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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Farm Legends - -Author: Will Carleton - -Release Date: January 18, 2017 [EBook #54003] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FARM LEGENDS *** - - - - -Produced by Carlo Traverso, Brian Wilsden, Lisa Anne -Hatfield and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - -FARM LEGENDS. - - - - -[Illustration: - - "THEY STOOD IN THE SHADE OF THE WESTERN DOOR." _Page 32._] - - - - - FARM LEGENDS - - BY WILL CARLETON - - AUTHOR OF "FARM BALLADS" - - _ILLUSTRATED_ - - [Illustration: Colophon] - - NEW YORK - HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS - - FRANKLIN SQUARE - - - - - Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by - - HARPER & BROTHERS, - - In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - - - Copyright, 1887, by HARPER & BROTHERS. - - - - - TO - THE MEMORY OF A NOBLEMAN, - MY - FARMER FATHER. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The "Farm Ballads" have met with so kind and general a reception as to -encourage the publishing of a companion volume. - -In this book, also, the author has aimed to give expression to the -truth, that with every person, even if humble or debased, there may -be some good, worth lifting up and saving; that in each human being, -though revered and seemingly immaculate, are some faults which deserve -pointing out and correcting; and that all circumstances of life, -however trivial they appear, may possess those alternations of the -comic and pathetic, the good and bad, the joyful and sorrowful, upon -which walk the days and nights, the summers and winters, the lives and -deaths, of this strange world. - -He would take this occasion to give a word of thanks to those who have -staid with him through evil and good report; who have overlooked his -literary faults for the sake of the truths he was struggling to tell; -and who have believed--what he knows--that he is honest. - -With these few words of introduction, the author launches this second -bark upon the sea of popular opinion; grinds his axe, and enters once -more the great forest of Human Nature, for timber to go on with his -boat-building. - - W.C. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - _FARM LEGENDS:_ PAGE - - _The School-master's Guests._ 17 - - _Three Links of a Life._ 26 - - _Rob, the Pauper._ 40 - - _The Three Lovers._ 51 - - _The Song of Home._ 63 - - _Paul's run off with the Show._ 69 - - _The Key to Thomas' Heart._ 73 - - _The Doctor's Story._ 76 - - _The Christmas Baby._ 80 - - - _DECORATION-DAY POEMS:_ - - _Cover Them Over._ 87 - - _The Loves of the Nations._ 92 - - - _COLLEGE POEMS:_ - - _Rifts in the Cloud._ 103 - - _Brothers and Friends._ 113 - - _Our March through the Past._ 121 - - _That Day we Graduated._ 131 - - - _POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH:_ - - _The Burning of Chicago._ 137 - - _The Railroad Holocaust._ 145 - - _Ship "City of Boston"._ 147 - - _Gone Before._ 149 - - _The Little Sleeper._ 151 - - _'Tis Snowing._ 153 - - - _POEMS OF HOPE:_ - - _Some Time._ 157 - - _The Good of the Future._ 160 - - _The Joys that are Left._ 161 - - _When my Ship went Down._ 163 - - _To the Carleton Circle._ 164 - - - _THE SANCTUM KING._ 169 - - - _STRAY STANZAS:_ - - _Lines to James Russell Lowell._ 185 - - _To Monsieur Pasteur._ 185 - - _To a Young Lady._ 186 - - _Death of the Richest Man._ 186 - - _To the Smothered Miners._ 186 - - _The Deathless Song._ 187 - - _On a "Poet"-Critic._ 187 - - -[Illustration] - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS. - - - PAGE - - "_They stood in the Shade of the western Door_" Frontispiece - - "_A Class in the Front, with their Readers, - were telling, with difficult Pains_" 19 - - "_And nodded obliquely, and muttered, 'Them 'ere - is my Sentiments tew'_" 23 - - "_When grave Baw Beese, the Indian Chief, had beaded - the Neck of the pale-face Miss_" 27 - - "_Hiding e'en from the Dark his Face_" 35 - - "_E'en in your Desolation you are not quite unblest_" 37 - - "_Himself on the Door-stone idly sitting_" 41 - - "_He runs and stumbles, leaps and clambers_" 45 - - _Rob, the Pauper_ 50 - - "_And Bess said, 'Keep still, for there's Plenty of Room'_" 55 - - "_Several Times he, with Policy stern, repressed a - Desire to break out of the Churn_" 57 - - "_And there his plump Limbs through the Orifice swung_" 59 - - "_Alice, the country Maiden, with the sweet loving Face_" 65 - - "_My Boy! come in! come in!_" 71 - - "_The Mother, who carries the Key to Thomas' Heart_" 74 - - "_I threw them as far as I could throw_" 78 - - _The Christmas Baby_ 80, 81, 82, 83 - - "_They who in Mountain and Hill-side and Dell_" 90 - - "_And does Columbia love_ her _dead_?" 93 - - "_When a Man throws the Treasures of his Life_" 97 - - "_E'en when was fixed, with far-resounding strokes_" 109 - - "_How happy are We!_" 119 - - "_'Twas a bright, glorious March! full of Joys - that were New_" 123 - - "_And loudly wild Accents of Terror came pealing from - Thousands of Throats_" 141 - - _Ship "City of Boston"_ 147 - - _Some Time_ 157 - - "_With the World, Flesh, and--Lad of General Work_" 171 - - "_The Public Heart's Prime-ministers are We_" 179 - -[Illustration] - - - - -FARM LEGENDS. - - - - -FARM LEGENDS. - - - - -THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S GUESTS. - - -I. - - The district school-master was sitting behind his great book-laden - desk, - Close-watching the motions of scholars, pathetic and gay and - grotesque. - - As whisper the half-leafless branches, when Autumn's brisk breezes - have come, - His little scrub-thicket of pupils sent upward a half-smothered hum; - - Like the frequent sharp bang of a wagon, when treading a forest - path o'er, - Resounded the feet of his pupils, whenever their heels struck the - floor. - - There was little Tom Timms on the front seat, whose face was - withstanding a drouth; - And jolly Jack Gibbs just behind him, with a rainy new moon for a - mouth; - - There were both of the Smith boys, as studious as if they bore names - that could bloom: - And Jim Jones, a heaven-built mechanic, the slyest young knave in the - room: - - With a countenance grave as a horse's, and his honest eyes fixed on a - pin, - Queer-bent on a deeply laid project to tunnel Joe Hawkins's skin. - - There were anxious young novices, drilling their spelling-books into - the brain, - Loud-puffing each half-whispered letter, like an engine just starting - a train. - - There was one fiercely muscular fellow, who scowled at the sums on his - slate, - And leered at the innocent figures a look of unspeakable hate, - - And set his white teeth close together, and gave his thin lips a short - twist, - As to say, "I could whip you, confound you! if sums could be done with - my fist!" - - There were two pretty girls in the corner, each one with some cunning - possessed, - In a whisper discussing a problem: which one the young master liked - best! - - A class in the front, with their readers, were telling, with difficult - pains, - How perished brave Marco Bozzaris while bleeding at all of his veins; - - And a boy on the floor to be punished, a statue of idleness stood, - Making faces at all of the others, and enjoying the task all he could. - - -II. - - Around were the walls, gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum - hath, - With many a break on their surface, where grinned a wood-grating of - lath; - - A patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master's rickety chair, - Seemed threat'ningly o'er him suspended, like Damocles' sword, by a - hair; - - There were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered in - search of their prey; - Their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day; - -[Illustration: - - "A CLASS IN THE FRONT, WITH THEIR READERS, WERE TELLING, WITH - DIFFICULT PAINS, HOW PERISHED BRAVE MARCO BOZZARIS WHILE BLEEDING AT - ALL OF HIS VEINS."] - - The square stove it puffed and it thundered, and broke out in - red-flaming sores, - Till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush - out-o'-doors; - - White snow-flakes looked in at the windows; the gale pressed its lips - to the cracks; - And the children's hot faces were streaming, the while they were - freezing their backs. - - -III. - - Now Marco Bozzaris had fallen, and all of his suff'rings were o'er, - And the class to their seats were retreating, when footsteps were - heard at the door; - - And five of the good district fathers marched into the room in a row, - And stood themselves up by the hot fire, and shook off their white - cloaks of snow; - - And the spokesman, a grave squire of sixty, with countenance solemnly - sad, - Spoke thus, while the children all listened, with all of the ears that - they had: - - "We've come here, school-master, intendin' to cast an inquirin' eye - 'round, - Concarnin' complaints that's been entered, an' fault that has lately - been found; - To pace off the width of your doin's, an' witness what you've been - about; - An' see if it's payin' to keep you, or whether we'd best turn ye out. - - "The first thing I'm bid for to mention is, when the class gets up to - read: - You give 'em too tight of a reinin', an' touch 'em up more than they - need; - You're nicer than wise in the matter of holdin' the book in one han', - An' you turn a stray _g_ in their doin's, an' tack an odd _d_ on their - _an'_. - There ain't no great good comes of speakin' the words so _polite_, - as _I_ see, - Providin' you know what the facts is, an' tell 'em off jest as they be. - - An' then there's that readin' in corncert, is censured from first unto - last; - It kicks up a heap of a racket, when folks is a-travelin' past. - Whatever is done as to readin', providin' things goes to _my_ say, - Sha'n't hang on no new-fangled hinges, but swing in the old-fashioned - way." - - And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that - was due, - And nodded obliquely, and muttered, "_Them 'ere is my sentiments tew_." - - "Then, as to your spellin': I've heern tell, by them as has looked - into this, - That you turn the _u_ out o' your labour, an' make the word shorter - than 'tis; - An' clip the _k_ off o' yer musick, which makes my son Ephraim - perplexed, - An' when he spells out as he used ter, you pass the word on to the - next. - They say there's some new-grafted books here that don't take them - letters along; - But if it is so, just depend on't, them new-grafted books is made - wrong. - You might just as well say that Jackson didn't know all there was - about war, - As to say that the old-fashioned teachers didn't know what them - letters was for!" - - And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that - was due, - And scratched their heads slyly and softly, and said, "_Them's my - sentiments tew_." - - "Then, also, your 'rithmetic doin's, as they are reported to me, - Is that you have left Tare an' Tret out, an' also the old Rule o' - Three; - An' likewise brought in a new study, some high-steppin' scholars to - please, - With saw-bucks an' crosses and pot-hooks, an' _w_'s, _x_, _y_'s, - and _z_'s. - We ain't got no time for such foolin'; there ain't no great good to be - reached - By tiptoein' childr'n up higher than ever their fathers was teached." - -[Illustration: "AND NODDED OBLIQUELY, AND MUTTERED, 'THEM 'ERE IS MY -SENTIMENTS TEW.'"] - - And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that - was due, - And cocked one eye up to the ceiling, and said, "_Them's my - sentiments tew_." - - "Another thing, I must here mention, comes into the question to-day: - Concernin' some words in the grammar you're teachin' our gals for to - say. - My gals is as steady as clock-work, an' never give cause for much - fear, - But they come home from school t'other evenin' a-talkin' such stuff - as this here: - '_I love_,' an' '_Thou lovest_,' an' '_He loves_,' an' '_Ye love_,' - an' '_You love_,' an' '_They_--' - An' they answered my questions, 'It's grammar'--'twas all I could get - 'em to say. - Now if, 'stead of doin' your duty, you're carryin' matters on so - As to make the gals say that they love you, it's just all that _I_ - want to know;--" - - -IV. - - Now Jim, the young heaven-built mechanic, in the dusk of the evening - before, - Had well-nigh unjointed the stove-pipe, to make it come down on the - floor; - - And the squire bringing smartly his foot down, as a clincher to what - he had said, - A joint of the pipe fell upon him, and larruped him square on the - head. - - The soot flew in clouds all about him, and blotted with black all - the place, - And the squire and the other four fathers were peppered with black in - the face. - - The school, ever sharp for amusement, laid down all their cumbersome - books, - And, spite of the teacher's endeavors, laughed loud at their visitors' - looks; - - And the squire, as he stalked to the doorway, swore oaths of a violet - hue; - And the four district fathers, who followed, seemed to say, "_Them's - my sentiments tew_." - - - - -THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. - - -I. - - A word went over the hills and plains - Of the scarce-hewn fields that the Tiffin drains, - Through dens of swamps and jungles of trees, - As if it were borne by the buzzing bees - As something sweet for the sons of men; - Or as if the blackbird and the wren - Had lounged about each ragged clearing - To gossip it in the settlers' hearing; - Or the partridge drum-corps of the wood - Had made the word by mortals heard, - And Diana made it understood; - Or the loud-billed hawk of giant sweep - Were told it as something he must keep; - - As now, in the half-built city of Lane, - Where the sons of the settlers strive for gain, - Where the Indian trail is graded well, - And the anxious ring of the engine-bell - And the Samson Steam's deep, stuttering word - And the factory's dinner-horn are heard; - Where burghers fight, in friendly guise, - With spears of bargains and shields of lies; - Where the sun-smoked farmer, early a-road, - Rides into the town his high-built load - Of wood or wool, or corn or wheat, - And stables his horses in the street;-- - It seems as to each and every one - A deed were known ere it well be done, - As if, in spite of roads or weather, - All minds were whispering together; - So over the glens and rough hill-sides - Of the fruitful land where the Tiffin glides, - Went the startling whisper, clear and plain, - "_There's a new-born baby over at Lane!_" - -[Illustration: - - "WHEN GRAVE BAW BEESE, THE INDIAN CHIEF, - HAD BEADED THE NECK OF THE PALE-FACE MISS."] - - Now any time, from night till morn, - Or morn till night, for a long time-flight, - Had the patient squaws their children borne; - And many a callow, coppery wight - Had oped his eyes to the tree-flecked light, - And grown to the depths of the woodland dell - And the hunt of the toilsome hills as well - As though at his soul a bow were slung, - And a war-whoop tattooed on his tongue; - But never before, in the Tiffin's sight, - Had a travail bloomed with a blossom of white. - - And the fire-tanned logger no longer pressed - His yoke-bound steeds and his furnace fire; - And the gray-linked log-chain drooped to rest, - And a hard face softened with sweet desire; - And the settler-housewife, rudely wise, - With the forest's shrewdness in her eyes, - Yearned, with tenderly wondering brain, - For the new-born baby over at Lane. - - And the mother lay in her languid bed, - When the flock of visitors had fled-- - When the crowd of settlers all had gone, - And left the young lioness alone - With the tiny cub they had come to see - In the rude-built log menagerie; - When grave Baw Beese, the Indian chief, - As courtly as ever prince in his prime, - Or cavalier of the olden time, - Making his visit kind as brief, - Had beaded the neck of the pale-face miss, - And dimpled her cheek with a farewell kiss; - When the rough-clad room was still as sleek, - Save the deaf old nurse's needle-click, - The beat of the grave clock in its place, - With its ball-tipped tail and owl-like face, - And the iron tea-kettle's droning song - Through its Roman nose so black and long, - The mother lifted her baby's head, - And gave it a clinging kiss, and said: - - Why did thou come so straight to me, - Thou queer one? - Thou might have gone where riches be, - Thou dear one! - For when 'twas talked about in heaven, - To whom the sweet soul should be given, - If thou had raised thy pretty voice, - God sure had given to thee a choice, - My dear one, my queer one! - - "Babe in the wood" thou surely art, - My lone one: - But thou shalt never play the part, - My own one! - Thou ne'er shalt wander up and down, - With none to claim thee as their own; - Nor shall the Redbreast, as she grieves, - Make up for thee a bed of leaves, - My own one, my lone one! - - Although thou be not Riches' flower, - Thou neat one, - Yet thou hast come from Beauty's bower, - Thou sweet one! - Thy every smile's as warm and bright - As if a diamond mocked its light; - Thy every tear's as pure a pearl - As if thy father was an earl, - Thou neat one, thou sweet one! - - And thou shalt have a queenly name, - Thou grand one: - A lassie's christening's half her fame, - Thou bland one! - And may thou live so good and true, - The honor will but be thy due; - And friends shall never be ashamed, - Or when or where they hear thee named, - Thou bland one, thou grand one! - - E'en like the air--our rule and sport-- - Thou meek one, - Thou art my burden and support, - Thou weak one! - Like manna in the wilderness, - A joy hath come to soothe and bless: - But 'tis a sorrow unto me, - To love as I am loving thee, - Thou weak one, thou meek one! - - The scarlet-coated child-thief waits, - Thou bright one, - To bear thee through the sky-blue gates, - Thou light one! - His feverish touch thy brow may pain, - And while I to my sad lips strain - The sheath of these bright-beaming eyes, - The blade may flash back to the skies, - Thou light one, thou bright one! - - And if thou breast the morning storm, - Thou fair one, - And gird a woman's thrilling form, - Thou rare one: - Sly hounds of sin thy path will trace, - And on thy unsuspecting face - Hot lust will rest its tarnished eyes, - And thou wilt need be worldly-wise, - Thou rare one, thou fair one! - - O that the heaven that smiles to-day, - My blest one, - May give thee light to see thy way, - My best one! - That when around thee creeps The Gloom, - The gracious God will call thee home, - And then, increased a hundredfold, - Thou proudly hand Him back His gold, - My best one, my blest one! - - -II. - - A word went over the many miles - Of the well-tilled land where the Tiffin smiles, - And sought no youthful ear in vain: - "_There's a wedding a-coming off at Lane!_" - - They stood in the shade of the western door-- - Father, mother, and daughter one-- - And gazed, as they oft had gazed before, - At the downward glide of the western sun. - The rays of his never-jealous light - Made even the cloud that dimmed him bright; - And lower he bent, and kissed, as he stood, - The lips of the distant blue-eyed wood. - - And just as the tired sun bowed his head, - The sun-browned farmer sighed, and said: - - And so you'll soon be goin' away, - My darling little Bess; - And you ha' been to the store to-day, - To buy your weddin'-dress; - - And so your dear good mother an' I, - Whose love you long have known, - Must lay the light o' your presence by, - And walk the road alone. - - So come to-night, with mother and me, - To the porch for an hour or two, - And sit on your old father's knee, - And talk, as we used to do; - - For we, who ha' loved you many a year, - And clung to you, strong and true, - Since we've had the young Professor here, - Have not had much of you! - - But lovers be lovers, while earth endures; - And once on a time, be it known, - _I_ helped a girl with eyes like yours - Construct a world of our own; - - And we laid it out in a garden spot, - And dwelt in the midst of flowers; - Till we found that the world was a good-sized lot, - And most of it wasn't ours! - - You're heavier, girl, than when you come - To us one cloudy day, - And seemed to feel so little at home, - We feared you wouldn't stay; - - Till I knew the danger was passed, because - You'd struck so mortal a track, - And got so independent an' cross, - God never would let you back! - - But who would ever ha' had the whim, - When you lay in my arms an' cried, - You'd some day sit here, pretty an' prim, - A-waitin' to be a bride! - - But lovers be lovers, while earth goes on, - And marry, as they ought; - And if you would keep the love you've won, - Remember what you've been taught: - - Look first that your wedded lives be true, - With naught from the other apart; - For the flowers of true love never grew - In the soil of a faithless heart. - - Look next that the buds of health shall rest - Their blossoms upon your cheek; - For life and love are a burden at best, - If the body be sick and weak. - - Look next that your kitchen fire be bright, - And your hands be neat and skilled; - For the love of man oft takes its flight, - If his stomach be not well filled! - - Look next that your money is fairly earned, - Ere ever it be spent; - For comfort and love, however turned, - Will ne'er pay six per cent. - - And, next, due care and diligence keep - That the mind be trained and fed; - For blessings ever look shabby and cheap, - That light on an empty head. - - And if it shall please the gracious God - That children to you belong, - Remember, my child, and spare the rod - Till you've taught them right and wrong; - - And show 'em, that though this life's a start - For the better world, no doubt, - Yet earth an' heaven ain't so far apart - As many good folks make out! - - -III. - - A word went over the broad hill-sweeps - Of the listening land where the Tiffin creeps: - - "_She married, holding on high her head;_ - _But the groom was false as the vows he said;_ - _With lies and crimes his days are checked;_ - _The girl is alone, and her life is wrecked._" - - The midnight rested its heavy arm - Upon the grief-encumbered farm; - And hoarse-voiced Sorrow wandered at will, - Like a moan when the summer's night is still; - And the spotted cows, with bellies of white, - And well-filled teats all crowded awry, - Stood in the black stalls of the night, - Nor herded nor milked, and wondered why. - And the house was gloomy, still, and cold; - And the hard-palmed farmer, newly old, - Sat in an unfrequented place, - Hiding e'en from the dark his face; - And a solemn silence rested long - On all, save the cricket's dismal song. - -[Illustration: "HIDING E'EN FROM THE DARK HIS FACE."] - - But the mother drew the girl to her breast, - And gave to her spirit words of rest: - Come to my lap, my wee-grown baby; rest you upon my knee; - You have been traveling toward the light, and drawing away from me; - You turned your face from my dark path to catch the light o' the sun, - And 'tis no more nor less, my child, than children ever have done. - So you joined hands with one you loved, when we to the cross-road came, - And went your way, as Heaven did say, and who but Heaven to blame? - - You must not weep that he you chose was all the time untrue, - Or stab with hate the man whose heart you thought was made for you. - The love God holds for your bright soul is more to get and give - Than all the love of all of the men while He may bid them live. - So let your innocence stanch the wound made by another's guilt; - For Vengeance' blade was ever made with neither guard nor hilt! - - Who will avenge you, darling? The sun that shines on high. - He will paint the picture of your wrongs before the great world's eye. - He will look upon your sweet soul, in its pure mantle of white, - Till it shine upon your enemies, and dazzle all their sight. - He'll come each day to point his finger at him who played the knave; - And 'tis denied from him to hide, excepting in the grave. - - Who will avenge you, darling? Your sister, the sky above. - Each cloud she floats above you shall be a token of love; - She will bend o'er you at night-fall her pure broad breast of blue, - And every gem that glitters there shall flash a smile to you. - And all her great wide distances to your good name belong; - 'Tis not so far from star to star as 'twixt the right and wrong! - - Who will avenge you, darling? All the breezes that blow. - They will whisper to each other your tale of guiltless woe; - The perfumes that do load them your innocence shall bless, - And they will soothe your aching brow with pitying, kind caress. - They will sweep away the black veil that hangs about your fame: - There is no cloud that long can shroud a virtuous woman's name. - -[Illustration: - - "E'EN IN YOUR DESOLATION YOU ARE NOT QUITE UNBLEST: - NOT ALL WHO CHOOSE MAY COUNT THEIR WOES UPON A MOTHER'S BREAST."] - - Who will avenge you, darling? The one who proved untrue. - His memory must undo him, whate'er his will may do; - The pitch-black night will come when he must meet Remorse alone; - He will rush at your avenging as if it were his own. - His every sin is but a knot that yet shall hold him fast; - For guilty hands but twine the strands that fetter them at last. - - Lay thee aside thy grief, darling!--lay thee aside thy grief! - And Happiness will cheer thee beyond all thy belief! - As oft as winter comes summer, as sure as night comes day, - And as swift as sorrow cometh, so swift it goeth away! - E'en in your desolation you are not quite unblest: - Not all who choose may count their woes upon a mother's breast. - -[Illustration] - - - - -ROB, THE PAUPER. - - -I. - - Rob, the Pauper, is loose again. - Through the fields and woods he races. - He shuns the women, he beats the men, - He kisses the children's frightened faces. - There is no mother he hath not fretted; - There is no child he hath not petted; - There is no house, by road or lane, - He did not tap at the window-pane, - And make more dark the dismal night, - And set the faces within with white. - - Rob, the Pauper, is wild of eye, - Wild of speech, and wild of thinking; - Over his forehead broad and high, - Each with each wild locks are linking. - Yet, there is something in his bearing - Not quite what a pauper should be wearing: - In every step is a shadow of grace; - The ghost of a beauty haunts his face; - The rags half-sheltering him to-day, - Hang not on him in a beggarly way. - - Rob, the Pauper, is crazed of brain: - The world is a lie to his shattered seeming. - No woman is true unless insane; - No man but is full of lecherous scheming. - Woe to the wretch, of whate'er calling, - That crouches beneath his cudgel's falling! - Pity the wife, howe'er high-born, - Who wilts beneath his words of scorn! - But youngsters, he caresses as wild - As a mother would kiss a rescued child. - -[Illustration: - - "HIMSELF ON THE DOOR-STONE IDLY SITTING, - A BLONDE-HAIRED WOMAN ABOUT HIM FLITTING."] - - He hath broke him loose from his poor-house cell; - He hath dragged him clear from rope and fetter. - They might have thought; for they know full well - They could keep a half-caged panther better. - Few are the knots so strategy-shunning - That they can escape his maniac cunning; - Many a stout bolt strives in vain - To bar his brawny shoulders' strain; - The strongest men in town agree - That the Pauper is good for any three. - - He hath crossed the fields, the woods, the street: - He hides in the swamp his wasted feature; - The frog leaps over his bleeding feet; - The turtle crawls from the frightful creature. - The loud mosquito, hungry-flying, - For his impoverished blood is crying; - The scornful hawk's loud screaming sneer - Falls painfully upon his ear; - And close to his unstartled eye, - The rattlesnake creeps noisily by. - - He hath fallen into a slough of sleep; - A haze of the past bends softly o'er him; - His restless spirit a watch doth keep, - As Memory's canvas glides before him. - Through slumber's distances he travels; - The tangled skein of his mind unravels; - The bright past dawns through a cloud of dreams, - And once again in his prime he seems; - For over his heart's lips, as a kiss, - Sweepeth a vision like to this: - - A cozy kitchen, a smooth-cut lawn, - A zephyr of flowers in the bright air straying; - A graceful child, as fresh as dawn, - Upon the greensward blithely playing; - Himself on the door-stone idly sitting, - A blonde-haired woman about him flitting. - She dreamily stands beside him there, - And deftly toys with his coal-black hair, - And hovers about him with her eyes, - And whispers to him, pleading-wise: - - O Rob, why will you plague my heart? why will you try me so? - Is she so fair, is she so sweet, that you must need desert me? - I saw you kiss her twice and thrice behind the maple row, - And each caress you gave to her did like a dagger hurt me. - Why should for her and for her smiles your heart a moment hunger? - What though her shape be trim as mine, her face a trifle younger? - She does not look so young to you as I when we were wed; - She can not speak more sweet to you than words that I have said; - She can not love you half so well as I, when all is done; - And she is not your wedded wife--the mother of your son. - - O Rob, you smile and toss your head; you mock me in your soul; - You say I would be overwise--that I am jealous of you; - And what if my tight-bended heart should spring beyond control? - My jealous tongue but tells the more the zeal with which I love you. - Oh, we might be so peaceful here, with nothing of reproving - Oh, we might be so happy here, with none to spoil our loving! - Why should a joy be more a joy because, forsooth, 'tis hid? - How can a kiss be more a kiss because it is forbid? - Why should the love you get from her be counted so much gain, - When every smile you give to her but adds unto my pain? - - O Rob, you say there is no guilt betwixt the girl and you: - Do you not know how slack of vows may break the bond that's dearest? - You twirl a plaything in your hand, not minding what you do, - And first you know it flies from you, and strikes the one that's - nearest. - So do not spoil so hopelessly you ne'er may cease your ruing; - The finger-post of weakened vows points only to undoing. - Remember there are years to come, and there are thorns of woe - That you may grasp if once you let the flowers of true love go; - Remember the increasing bliss of marriage undefiled; - Remember all the pride or shame that waits for yonder child! - -[Illustration: - - "HE RUNS AND STUMBLES, LEAPS AND CLAMBERS, - THROUGH THE DENSE THICKET'S BREATHLESS CHAMBERS."] - - -II. - - Rob, the Pauper, awakes and runs; - A clamor cometh clear and clearer. - They are hunting him with dogs and guns; - They are every moment pressing nearer. - Through pits of stagnant pools he pushes, - Through the thick sumac's poison-bushes; - He runs and stumbles, leaps and clambers, - Through the dense thicket's breathless chambers. - The swamp-slime stains at his bloody tread; - The tamarack branches rasp his head; - - From bog to bog, and from slough to slough, - He flees, but his foes come yelling nearer; - And ever unto his senses now, - The long-drawn bay of the hounds is clearer. - He is worn and worried, hot and panting; - He staggers at every footstep's planting; - The hot blood races through his brain; - His every breath is a twinge of pain; - Black shadows dance before his eyes; - The echoes mock his agony-cries. - - They have hunted him to the open field; - He is falling upon their worn-out mercies. - They loudly call to him to yield; - He hoarsely pays them back in curses. - His blood-shot eye is wildly roaming; - His firm-set mouth with rage is foaming; - He waves his cudgel, with war-cry loud, - And dares the bravest of the crowd. - There springs at his throat a hungry hound; - He dashes its brains into the ground. - - Rob, the Pauper, is sorely pressed; - The men are crowding all around him. - He crushes one to a bloody rest, - And breaks again from the crowd that bound him. - The crash of a pistol comes unto him-- - A well-sped ball goes crushing through him; - But still he rushes on--yet on-- - Until, at last, some distance won, - He mounts a fence with a madman's ease, - And this is something of what he sees: - - A lonely cottage, some tangled grass, - Thickets of thistles, dock, and mullein; - A forest of weeds he scarce can pass, - A broken chimney, cold and sullen; - Trim housewife-ants, with rush uncertain, - The spider hanging her gauzy curtain. - The Pauper falls on the dusty floor, - And there rings in his failing ear once more - A voice as it might be from the dead, - And says, as it long ago hath said: - - O Rob, I have a word to say--a cruel word--to you: - I can not longer live a lie--the truth for air is calling! - I can not keep the secret locked that long has been your due, - Not if you strike me to the ground, and spurn me in my falling! - He came to me when first a cloud across your smile was creeping-- - He came to me--he brought to me a slighted heart for keeping; - He would not see my angry frown; he sought me, day by day; - I flung at him hot words of scorn, I turned my face away. - I bade him dread my husband's rage when once his words were known: - He smiled at me, and said I had no husband of my own! - - O Rob, his words were overtrue! they burned into my brain! - I could not rub them out again, were I awake or sleeping! - I saw you kiss her twice and thrice--my chidings were in vain-- - And well I knew your wayward heart had wandered from my keeping. - I counted all that was at stake--I bribed my pride with duty; - I knelt before your manly face, in worship of its beauty; - I painted pictures for your eyes you were too blind to see; - I worked at all the trades of love, to earn you back to me; - I threw myself upon your heart; I pleaded long to stay; - I held my hands to you for help--you pushed them both away! - - He came to me again; he held his eager love to me-- - To me, whose weak and hungry heart deep desolation dreaded! - And I had learned to pity him; but still my will was free, - And once again I threatened him, and warned him I was wedded. - He bade me follow him, and see my erring fancy righted: - We crept along a garden glade by moonbeams dimly lighted; - She silent sat 'mid clustering vines, though much her eyes did speak, - And your black hair was tightly pressed unto her glowing cheek.... - It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet with love's unnumbered charms; - I, desolate, turned and threw myself into his desolate arms! - - O Rob, you know how little worth, when once a woman slips, - May be the striking down a hand to save herself from falling! - Once more my heart groped for your heart, my tired lips sought your lips: - But 'twas too late--'twas after dark--and you were past recalling. - 'Tis hard to claim what once is given; my foe was unrelenting; - Vain were the tempests of my rage, the mists of my repenting. - The night was dark, the storm had come, the fancy-stars of youth - Were covered over by the thick unfading cloud of truth; - So one by one my hopes went back, each hid its pale white face, - Till all was dark, and all was drear, and all was black disgrace. - - O Rob, good-by; a solemn one!--'tis till the Judgment-day. - You look about you for the boy? You never more shall see him. - He's crying for his father now full many miles away; - For he is mine--you need not rage--you can not find or free him. - We might have been so peaceful here, with nothing of reproving-- - We might have been so happy here, with none to spoil our loving-- - As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse's waiting brow, - I bend to you where you have fallen, and calmly kiss you now; - As I, a wronged and injured one, might seek escape's glad door, - I wander forth into the world, to enter here no more. - - -III. - - Rob, the Pauper, is lying in state. - In a box of rough-planed boards, unpainted, - He waits at the poor-house graveyard gate, - For a home by human lust untainted. - They are crowding round and closely peering - At the face of the foe who is past their fearing; - The men lift children up to see - The arms of the man who was good for three; - The women gaze and hold their breath, - For the man looks kingly even in death. - - They have gone to their homes anear and far-- - Their joys and griefs, their loves and hating: - Some to sunder the ties that are, - And some to cooing and wooing and mating. - They will pet and strike, they will strive and blunder, - And leer at their woes with innocent wonder; - They will swiftly sail love's delicate bark, - With never a helm, in the dangerous dark; - They will ne'er quite get it understood - That the Pauper's woes were for their good. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE THREE LOVERS. - - - Here's a precept, young man, you should follow with care: - If you're courting a girl, court her honest and square. - - Mr. 'Liakim Smith was a hard-fisted farmer, - Of moderate wealth, - And immoderate health, - Who fifty-odd years, in a stub-and-twist armor - Of callus and tan, - Had fought like a man - His own dogged progress, through trials and cares, - And log-heaps and brush-heaps and wild-cats and bears, - And agues and fevers and thistles and briers, - Poor kinsmen, rich foemen, false saints, and true liars; - Who oft, like the "man in our town," overwise, - Through the brambles of error had scratched out his eyes, - And when the unwelcome result he had seen, - Had altered his notion, - Reversing the motion, - And scratched them both in again, perfect and clean; - Who had weathered some storms, as a sailor might say, - And tacked to the left and the right of his way, - Till he found himself anchored, past tempests and breakers, - Upon a good farm of a hundred-odd acres. - - As for 'Liakim's wife, in four words may be told - Her whole standing in life: - She was 'Liakim's wife. - Whereas she'd been young, she was now growing old, - But did, she considered, as well as one could, - When HE looked on her hard work, and saw that 'twas good. - - The family record showed only a daughter; - But she had a face, - As if each fabled Grace - In a burst of delight to her bosom had caught her, - Or as if all the flowers in each Smith generation - Had blossomed at last in one grand culmination. - Style lingered unconscious in all of her dresses; - She'd starlight for glances, and sunbeams for tresses. - Wherever she went, with her right royal tread, - Each youth, when he'd passed her a bit, turned his head; - And so one might say, though the figure be strained, - She had turned half the heads that the township contained. - - Now Bess had a lover--a monstrous young hulk; - A farmer by trade-- - Strong, sturdy, and staid; - A man of good parts--if you counted by bulk; - A man of great weight--by the scales; and, indeed, - A man of some depth--as was shown by his feed. - His face was a fat exclamation of wonder; - His voice was not quite unsuggestive of thunder; - His laugh was a cross 'twixt a yell and a chuckle; - He'd a number one foot, - And a number ten boot, - And a knock-down reserved in each separate knuckle. - He'd a heart mad in love with the girl of his choice, - Who made him alternately mope and rejoice, - By dealing him one day discouraging messes, - And soothing him next day with smiles and caresses. - - Now Bess had a lover, who hoped her to wed-- - A rising young lawyer--more rising than read; - Whose theories all were quite startling; and who, - Like many a chap - In these days of strange hap, - Was living on what he expected to do; - While his landlady thought 'twould have been rather neat - Could he only have learned, - Till some practice was earned, - To subsist upon what he expected to eat. - He was bodily small, howe'er mentally great, - And suggestively less than a hundred in weight. - - Now Bess had a lover--young Patrick; a sinner, - And lad of all work, - From the suburbs of Cork, - Who worked for her father, and thought _he_ could win her. - And if Jacob could faithful serve fourteen years through, - And still thrive and rejoice, - For the girl of his choice, - He thought he could play at that game one or two. - - Now 'Liakim Smith had a theory hid, - And by egotism fed, - Somewhere up in his head, - That a dutiful daughter should always as bid - Grow old in the service of him who begot her, - Imbibe his beliefs, - Have a care for his griefs, - And faithfully bring him his cider and water. - So, as might be expected, he turned up his nose, - Also a cold shoulder, to Bessie's two beaux; - And finally turned them away from his door, - Forbidding them ever to enter it more; - And detailed young Patrick as kind of a guard, - With orders to keep them both out of the yard. - So Pat took his task, with a treacherous smile, - And bullied the small one, - And dodged the big tall one, - And slyly made love to Miss Bess all the while. - - But one evening, when 'Liakim and wife crowned their labors - With praise and entreating - At the village prayer-meeting, - And Patrick had stepped for a while to some neighbor's, - The lawyer had come, in the trimmest of dress, - And, dapper and slim, - And small, e'en for him, - Was holding a session of court with Miss Bess. - And Bess, sly love-athlete, was suited first rate - At a flirtation-mill with this legal light-weight; - And was listening to him, as minutes spun on, - Of pleas he could make, - And of fees he would take, - And of suits that he should, in the future, have won; - When just as the cold, heartless clock counted eight, - Miss Bessie's quick ear caught a step at the gate. - "'Tis mother!" she cried: "oh, go quick, I implore! - But father'll drive 'round and come in the back-door! - You can not escape them, however you turn! - So hide for a while--let me see--in this churn!" - - The churn was quite large enough for him to turn in-- - Expanded out so, - By machinery to go, - 'Twould have done for a dairy-man-Cyclops to churn in. - 'Twas fixed for attaching a pitman or lever, - To go by a horse-power--a notion quite clever, - Invented and built by the Irishman, Pat, - Who pleased Mrs. 'Liakim hugely by that. - - The lawyer went into the case with much ease, - And hugged the belief - That the cause would be brief, - And settled himself down with hardly a squeeze. - And Bess said, "Keep still, for there's plenty of room," - And shut down the cover, and left him in gloom. - - But scarcely were matters left decently so, - In walked--not her mother, - But--worry and bother!-- - The mammoth young farmer, whose first name was Joe. - And he gleefully sung, in a heavy bass tone, - Which came in one note - From the depths of his throat, - "I'm glad I have come, since I've found you alone. - Let's sit here a while, by this kerosene light, - An' spark it a while now with all of our might." - And Bessie was willing; and so they sat down, - The maiden so fair and the farmer so brown. - They talked of things great, and they talked of things small, - Which none could condemn, - And which may have pleased them, - But which did not interest the lawyer at all; - And Bessie seemed giving but little concern - To the feelings of him she had shut in the churn. - -[Illustration: - - "AND BESS SAID, 'KEEP STILL, FOR THERE'S PLENTY OF ROOM,' - AND SHUT DOWN THE COVER, AND LEFT HIM IN GLOOM."] - - Till Bessie just artlessly mentioned the man, - And Joe with a will to abuse him began, - And called him full many an ignoble name, - Appertaining to "Scrubby," - And "Shorty," and "Stubby," - And other descriptions not wide of the same; - And Bessie said naught in the lawyer's behalf, - But seconded Joe, now and then, with a laugh; - And the lawyer said nothing, but winked at his fate, - And, somewhat abashed, - And decidedly dashed, - Accepted Joe's motions sans vote or debate. - And several times he, with policy stern, - Repressed a desire to break out of the churn, - Well knowing he thus might get savagely used, - And if not quite eaten, - Would likely be beaten, - And probably injured as well as abused. - - But now came another quick step at the door, - And Bessie was fearful, the same as before; - And tumbling Joe over a couple of chairs, - With a general sound - Of thunder all 'round, - She hurried him up a short pair of back-stairs; - And close in the garret condemned him to wait - Till orders from her, be it early or late. - Then tripping her way down the staircase, she said, - "I'll smuggle them off when the folks get to bed." - - It was not her parents; 'twas crafty young Pat, - Returned from his visit; and straightway _he_ sat - Beside her, remarking, The chairs were in place, - So he would sit near her, and view her sweet face. - So gayly they talked, as the minutes fast flew, - Discussing such matters as both of them knew, - While often Miss Bessie's sweet laugh answered back, - For Pat, be it known, - Had some wit of his own, - - And in irony's efforts was sharp as a tack. - And finally Bessie his dancing tongue led, - By a sly dextrous turn, - To the man in the churn, - And the farmer, who eagerly listened o'erhead; - Whereat the young Irishman volubly gave - A short dissertation, - Whose main information - Was that one was a fool, and the other a knave. - -[Illustration: - - "SEVERAL TIMES HE, WITH POLICY STERN, - REPRESSED A DESIRE TO BREAK OUT OF THE CHURN."] - - Slim chance there must be for the world e'er to learn - How pleasant this was to the man in the churn; - Though, to borrow a figure lent by his position, - He was doubtless in somewhat a worked-up condition. - It ne'er may be sung, and it ne'er may be said, - How well it was liked by the giant o'erhead. - He lay on a joist--for there wasn't any floor-- - And the joists were so few, - And so far apart too, - He could not, in comfort, preempt any more; - And he nearly had knocked through the plastering quite, - And challenged young Pat to a fair and square fight; - But he dared not do elsewise than Bessie had said, - For fear, as a lover, he might lose his head. - - But now from the meeting the old folks returned, - And sat by the stove as the fire brightly burned; - And Patrick came in from the care of the team; - And since in the house there was overmuch cream, - He thought that the horses their supper might earn, - And leave him full way - To plow early next day, - By working that night for a while at the churn. - - The old folks consented; and Patrick went out, - Half chuckling; for he had a shrewd Irish doubt, - From various slight sounds he had chanced to discern, - That Bess had a fellow shut up in that churn. - - The lawyer, meanwhile, in his hiding-place cooped, - Low-grunted and hitched and contorted and stooped, - But hung to the place like a man in a dream; - And when the young Irishman went for the team, - To stay or to fly, he could hardly tell which; - But hoping to get - Neatly out of it yet, - He concluded to hang till the very last hitch. - - The churn was one side of the house, recollect, - So rods with the horse-power outside could connect; - And Bess stood so near that she took the lamp's gleam in - While her mother was cheerfully pouring the cream in; - Who, being near-sighted, and minding her cup, - Had no notion of what she was covering up; - But the lawyer, meanwhile, had he dared to have spoke, - Would have owned that he saw the whole cream of the joke. - - [Illustration: "AND THERE HIS PLUMP LIMBS THROUGH THE ORIFICE SWUNG."] - - But just as the voice of young Patrick came strong - And clear through the window, "All ready! go 'long!" - And just as the dasher its motion began, - Stirred up by its knocks, - Like a jack-in-the-box - He jumped from his damp, dripping prison--and ran; - And made a frog-leap o'er the stove and a chair, - With some crisp Bible words not intended as prayer. - - All over the kitchen he rampaged and tore, - And ran against everything there but the door; - Tipped over old 'Liakim flat on his back, - And left a long trail of rich cream on his track. - "Ou! ou! 'tis a ghost!" quavered 'Liakim's wife; - "A ghost, if I ever saw one in my life!" - "The devil!" roared 'Liakim, rubbing his shin. - "No! no!" shouted Patrick, who just then came in: - "It's only a lawyer: the devil ne'er runs-- - To bring on him a laugh-- - In the shape of a calf; - It isn't the devil; it's one of his sons! - If so that the spalpeen had words he could utther. - He'd swear he loved Bessie, an' loved no one butther." - - Now Joe lay full length on the scantling o'erhead, - And tried to make out - What it all was about, - By list'ning to all that was done and was said; - But somehow his balance became uncontrolled, - And he on the plastering heavily rolled. - It yielded instanter, came down with a crash, - And fell on the heads of the folks with a smash. - And there his plump limbs through the orifice swung, - And he caught by the arms and disgracefully hung, - His ponderous body, so clumsy and thick, - Wedged into that posture as tight as a brick. - And 'Liakim Smith, by amazement made dumb - At those legs in the air - Hanging motionless there, - Concluded that this time the devil had come; - And seizing a chair, he belabored them well, - While the head pronounced words that no printer would spell. - - And there let us leave them, 'mid outcry and clatter, - To come to their wits, and then settle the matter; - And take for the moral this inference fair: - If you're courting a girl, court her honest and square. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE SONG OF HOME. - - - "Sing me a song, my Alice, and let it be your choice, - So as you pipe out plainly, and give me the sweet o' your voice; - An' it be not new-fashioned: the new-made tunes be cold, - An' never awake my fancy like them that's good an' old. - Fie on your high-toned gimcracks, with rests an' beats an' points, - Shaking with trills an' quavers--creakin' in twenty joints! - Sing me the good old tunes, girl, that roll right off the tongue, - Such as your mother gave me when she an' I was young." - - So said the Farmer Thompson, smoking his pipe of clay, - Close by his glowing fire-place, at close of a winter day. - He was a lusty fellow, with grizzled beard unshorn, - Hair half combed and flowing, clothing overworn; - Boots of mammoth pattern, with many a patch and rent; - Hands as hard as leather, body with labor bent; - Face of resolution, and lines of pain and care, - Such as the slow world's vanguards are ever doomed to bear; - While from his eyes the yearnings of unemployed desire - Gleamed like the fitful embers of a half-smothered fire. - - Alice, the country maiden, with the sweet, loving face, - Sung these words to an old air, with an unstudied grace: - - There's nothing like an old tune, when friends are far apart, - To 'mind them of each other, and draw them heart to heart. - New strains across our senses on magic wings may fly, - But there's nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. - - The scenes we have so oft recalled when once again we view, - Have lost the smile they used to wear, and seem to us untrue; - We gaze upon their faded charms with disappointed eye; - And there's nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. - - We clasp the hands of former friends--we feel again their kiss-- - But something that we loved in them, in sorrow now we miss; - For women fade and men grow cold as years go hurrying by; - And there's nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. - - The forest where we used to roam, we find it swept away; - The cottage where we lived and loved, it moulders to decay; - And all that feeds our hungry hearts may wither, fade, and die; - And there's nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. - - "That was well sung, my Alice," the farmer proudly said, - When the last strain was finished and the last word had fled; - "That is as true as Gospel; and since you've sung so well, - I'll give you a bit of a story you've never heard me tell. - - "When the cry o' the axes first through these parts was heard, - I was young and happy, and chipper as a bird; - Fast as a flock o' pigeons the days appeared to fly, - With no one 'round for a six mile except your mother an' I. - Now we are rich, an' no one except the Lord to thank; - Acres of land all 'round us, money in the bank; - But happiness don't stick by me, an' sunshine ain't so true - As when I was five-an'-twenty, with twice enough to do. - - "As for the way your mother an' I made livin' go, - Just some time you ask her--of course she ought to know. - When she comes back in the morning from nursing Rogers' wife, - She'll own she was happy in them days as ever in her life. - For I was sweet on your mother;--why should not I be? - She was the gal I had fought for--she was the world to me; - And since we'd no relations, it never did occur - To me that I was a cent less than all the world to her. - - "But it is often doubtful which way a tree may fall; - When you are tol'ble certain, you are not sure at all. - When you are overconscious of travelin' right--that day - Look for a warnin' guide-post that points the other way. - For when you are feeling the safest, it very oft falls out - You rush head-foremost into a big bull-thistle o' doubt. - - [Illustration: - - "ALICE, THE COUNTRY MAIDEN, WITH THE SWEET, LOVING FACE, - SUNG THESE WORDS TO AN OLD AIR, WITH AN UNSTUDIED GRACE."] - -"'Twas in the fall o' '50 that I set out, one day, - To hunt for deer an' turkey, or what came in my way; - And wanderin' through the forest, my home I did not seek, - Until I was gone from the cabin the better part of a week. - - "As Saturday's sun was creeping its western ladder down, - I stopped for a bit of supper at the house of Neighbor Brown. - He was no less my neighbor that he lived ten miles away; - For neighborhoods then was different from what they are to-day. - - "Now Mrs. Brown was clever--a good, well-meaning soul-- - And brought to time exactly things under her control. - By very few misgoings were her perfections marred; - She meant well, with one trouble--she meant it 'most too hard. - - "Now when I had passed the time o' day, and laughed at Brown's last - jokes, - Nat'rally I asked 'em if they had seen my folks. - Whereat she shrugged her shoulders quite dangerous-wise, - And looked as if a jury was sittin' in her eyes; - And after a prudent silence I thought would never end, - Asked if my wife had a brother, or cousin, or other friend; - For some one, passing my cabin, she'd heard, had lately found - Rather a sleek an' han'some young fellow hanging round; - Of course it was a brother, or somethin' of that sort? - I told her 'twas a brother, and cut my supper short. - - "Which same was wrong, as viewed through a strictly moral eye; - But who, to shield his wife's name, wouldn't sometime tell a lie? - 'Twas nothing but a lie, girl, and for a lie 'twas meant: - If brothers sold at a million, she couldn't ha' raised a cent. - - "Home I trudged in a hurry--who could that fellow be? - Home I trudged in a hurry, bound that I would see; - And when I reached my cabin I thought 'twas only fair - To peep in at the window an' find out what was there. - - "A nice, good-fashioned fellow as any in the land - Sat by my wife quite closely, a-holdin' of her hand, - An' whispering something into her willin'-listenin' ear, - Which I should judge by her actions she rather liked to hear. - - "Now seeing such singular doin's before my very eyes, - The Devil he came upon me, and took me by surprise; - He put his hand on my mouth, girl, and never a word I said, - But raised my gun an' aimed it straight at the stranger's head. - - "Lightly I touched the trigger; I drew a good long breath-- - My heart was full o' Satan, my aim was full o' death; - But at that very instant they broke out, clear an' strong, - A-singing, both together, a good old-fashioned song. - - "That simple little song, girl, still in my ears does ring; - 'Twas one I had coaxed your mother while courting her to sing; - Never a word I remember how any verses goes, - But this is a little ditty that every body knows: - How though about a palace you might forever hang, - You'll never feel so happy as in your own shebang. - - "It woke the recollections of happy days an' years-- - I slowly dropped my rifle, an' melted into tears. - - * * * * * - - "It was a neighbor's daughter, made on the tomboy plan, - Who, keeping my wife company, had dressed like a spruce young man! - An' full of new-born praises to Him where they belong, - I thanked the Lord for makin' the man who made that good old song!" - -[Illustration] - - - - -PAUL'S RUN OFF WITH THE SHOW. - - - Jane, 'tis so--it is so! - How _can_ I--his mother--bear it? - Paul's run off with the show! - - Put all his things in the garret-- - All o' his working gear; - He's never a-going to wear it, - Never again coming here. - If he gets sick, deaf, or blind, - If he falls and breaks his leg, - He can borrow an organ an' grind, - He can hobble about and beg. - Let him run--good luck behind him!... - I wonder which way they went? - I suppose I might follow an' find him.-- - But no! let him keep to his bent! - I'm never a-going to go - For a boy that runs off with the show! - - Lay his books up in the chamber; - He never will want them now; - Never _did_ want them much. - He al'ays could run and clamber, - Make somersets on the mow, - Hand-springs, cart-wheels, an' such, - And other profitless turning; - But when it came to learning, - He would always shirk somehow! - - I was trimming him out for a preacher, - When he got over being wild - (He was always a sturdy creature-- - A sinfully thrifty child); - A Cartwright preacher, perhaps, - As could eat strong boiled dinners, - Talk straight to saucy chaps, - And knock down fightin' sinners; - I told him of all Heaven's mercies, - Raked his sins o'er and o'er, - Made him learn Scripture verses, - Half a thousand or more; - I sung the hymn-book through him, - I whipped the Bible into him, - In grace to make him grow: - What did such training call for? - What did I name him Paul for?-- - To have him run off with a show? - - All o' the wicked things - That are found in circus rings, - I taught him to abhor 'em; - But he always was crazy for 'em. - I know what such follies be; - For once in my life--woe's me-- - Let's see-- - 'Twas the fall before Paul was born - I myself was crazy for shows. - How it happened, Goodness knows: - But howe'er it did befall-- - Whate'er may ha' been the reason-- - For once I went to all - The circuses of the season. - I watched 'em, high an' low, - Painfully try to be jolly; - I laughed at the tricks o' the clown: - I went and saw their folly, - In order to preach it down: - Little enough did I know - That Paul would run off with a show! - - What'll they do with the boy? - They'll stand him upon a horse, - To his exceeding joy, - To teach him to ride, of course. - Sakes! he can do that now! - -[Illustration: "MY BOY! COME IN! COME IN!"] - - He can whip old Jim to a jump, - And ride upon him standing, - And never get a thump-- - Never a bit of harm. - He has trained all the beasts on the farm, - From the ducks to the brindle cow, - To follow his commanding. - Sakes! that it should be so! - Him's I've brought up i' the bosom - Of church, and all things good: - All my pains--I shall lose 'em-- - Might have known that I would. - I had hopes beyond my countin', - I had faith as big as a mountain; - But somehow I knew all the while - He'd turn out in some such style-- - Always had that fear. - - Well, he's never comin' back here. - If he comes to any harm, - If he falls an' sprains his arm. - If he slips and breaks his leg, - He can hobble about an' beg. - He can--Who is that boy out there, Jane. - Skulkin' 'long by the railroad track, - Head an' feet all bare, Jane, - One eye dressed in black? - - My boy! Come in! come in! - Come in! come in! come in! - Come in--you sha'n't be hurt. - Come in--you shall rest--you shall rest. - Why, you're all over blood an' dirt! - Did they hurt you?--well, well, it's too bad. - So you thought the old home the best? - You won't run off ag'in? - Well, come in, come in, poor lad; - Come in--come in--come in! - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE KEY TO THOMAS' HEART. - - - Ride with me, Uncle Nathan? * * - I don't care an' I do. - My poor old heart's in a hurry; I'm anxious to get through. - My soul outwalks my body; my legs are far from strong; - An' it's mighty kind o' you, doctor, to help the old man along. - - I'm some'at full o' hustle; there's business to be done. - I've just been out to the village to see my youngest son. - You used to know him, doctor, ere he his age did get, - An' if I ain't mistaken, you sometimes see him yet. - - We took him through his boyhood, with never a ground for fears; - But somehow he stumbled over his early manhood's years. - The landmarks that we showed him, he seems to wander from, - Though in his heart there was never a better boy than Tom. - - He was quick o' mind an' body in all he done an' said; - But all the gold he reached for, it seemed to turn to lead. - The devil of grog it caught him, an' held him, though the while - He has never grudged his parents a pleasant word an' smile. - - The devil of grog it caught him, an' then he turned an' said. - By that which fed from off him, he henceforth would be fed; - An' that which lived upon him, should give him a livin' o'er; - An' so he keeps that groggery that's next to Wilson's store. - - But howsoe'er he's wandered, I've al'ays so far heard - That he had a sense of honor, an' never broke his word; - An' his mother, from the good Lord, she says, has understood - That, if he agrees to be sober, he'll keep the promise good. - - An' so when just this mornin' these poor old eyes o' mine - Saw all the women round him, a-coaxin' him to sign, - An' when the Widow Adams let fly a homespun prayer, - An' he looked kind o' wild like, an' started unaware, - - [Illustration: "THE MOTHER, WHO CARRIES THE KEY TO THOMAS' HEART."] - - An' glanced at her an instant, an' then at his kegs o' rum, - I somehow knew in a minute the turnin'-point had come; - An' he would be as good a man as ever yet there's been, - Or else let go forever, an' sink in the sea of sin. - - An' I knew, whatever efforts might carry him or fail, - There was only one could help God to turn the waverin' scale; - An' I skulked away in a hurry--I was bound to do my part-- - To get the mother, who carries the key to Thomas' heart. - - She's gettin' old an' feeble, an' childish in her talk; - An' we've no horse an' buggy, an' she will have to walk; - But she would be fast to come, sir, the gracious chance to seize, - If she had to crawl to Thomas upon her hands an' knees. - - * * * * * - - Crawl?--walk? No, not if I know it! So set your mind at rest. - Why, hang it! I'm Tom's customer, and said to be his best! - But if this blooded horse here will show his usual power, - Poor Tom shall see his mother in less than half an hour. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE DOCTOR'S STORY. - - -I. - - Good folks ever will have their way-- - Good folks ever for it must pay. - - But we, who are here and everywhere, - The burden of their faults must bear. - - We must shoulder others' shame-- - Fight their follies, and take their blame; - - Purge the body, and humor the mind; - Doctor the eyes when the soul is blind; - - Build the column of health erect - On the quicksands of neglect: - - Always shouldering others' shame-- - Bearing their faults and taking the blame! - - -II. - - Deacon Rogers, he came to me; - "Wife is agoin' to die," said he. - - "Doctors great, an' doctors small, - Haven't improved her any at all. - - "Physic and blister, powders and pills, - And nothing sure but the doctors' bills! - - "Twenty women, with remedies new, - Bother my wife the whole day through. - - "Sweet as honey, or bitter as gall-- - Poor old woman, she takes 'em all. - - "Sour or sweet, whatever they choose; - Poor old woman, she daren't refuse. - - "So she pleases whoe'er may call, - An' Death is suited the best of all. - - "Physic and blister, powder an' pill-- - Bound to conquer, and sure to kill!" - - -III. - - Mrs. Rogers lay in her bed. - Bandaged and blistered from foot to head. - - Blistered and bandaged from head to toe, - Mrs. Rogers was very low. - - Bottle and saucer, spoon and cup, - On the table stood bravely up; - - Physics of high and low degree; - Calomel, catnip, boneset tea; - - Every thing a body could bear, - Excepting light and water and air. - - -IV. - - I opened the blinds; the day was bright, - And God gave Mrs. Rogers some light. - -[Illustration: "I THREW THEM AS FAR AS I COULD THROW."] - - I opened the window; the day was fair, - And God gave Mrs. Rogers some air. - - Bottles and blisters, powders and pills, - Catnip, boneset, sirups, and squills; - - Drugs and medicines, high and low, - I threw them as far as I could throw. - - "What are you doing?" my patient cried; - "Frightening Death," I coolly replied. - - "You are crazy!" a visitor said: - I flung a bottle at his head. - - -V. - - Deacon Rogers he came to me; - "Wife is a-gettin' her health," said he. - - "I really think she will worry through; - She scolds me just as she used to do. - - "All the people have poohed an' slurred-- - All the neighbors have had their word; - - "'Twere better to perish, some of 'em say, - Than be cured in such an irregular way." - - -VI. - - "Your wife," said I, "had God's good care, - And His remedies, light and water and air. - - "All of the doctors, beyond a doubt, - Couldn't have cured Mrs. Rogers without." - - -VII. - - The deacon smiled and bowed his head; - "Then your bill is nothing," he said. - - "God's be the glory, as you say! - God bless you, doctor! good-day! good-day!" - - -VIII. - - If ever I doctor that woman again, - I'll give her medicine made by men. - - - - -THE CHRISTMAS BABY. - - "Tha'rt welcome, little bonny brid, - But shouldn't ha' come just when tha' did: - Teimes are bad." - _English Ballad._ - - - Hoot! ye little rascal! ye come it on me this way, - Crowdin' yerself amongst us this blusterin' winter's day, - Knowin' that we already have three of ye, an' seven, - An' tryin' to make yerself out a Christmas present o' Heaven? - - [Illustration] - - Ten of ye have we now, Sir, for this world to abuse; - An' Bobbie he have no waistcoat, an' Nellie she have no shoes, - An' Sammie he have no shirt, Sir (I tell it to his shame), - An' the one that was just before ye we ain't had time to name! - - An' all o' the banks be smashin', an' on us poor folk fall; - An' Boss he whittles the wages when work's to be had at all; - An' Tom he have cut his foot off, an' lies in a woful plight, - An' all of us wonders at mornin' as what we shall eat at night; - -[Illustration] - - An' but for your father an' Sandy a-findin' somewhat to do, - An' but for the preacher's good wife, who often helps us through, - An' but for your poor dear mother a-doin' twice her part, - Ye'd 'a seen us all in heaven afore _ye_ was ready to start! - -[Illustration] - - An' now _ye_ have come, ye rascal! so healthy an' fat an' sound, - A-weighin', I'll wager a dollar, the full of a dozen pound! - With yer mother's eyes a flashin', yer father's flesh an' build, - An' a good big mouth an' stomach all ready for to be filled! - - No, no! don't cry, my baby! hush up, my pretty one! - Don't get my chaff in yer eye, boy--I only was just in fun. - Ye'll like us when ye know us, although we're cur'us folks; - But we don't get much victual, an' half our livin' is jokes! - - Why, boy, did ye take me in earnest? come, sit upon my knee; - I'll tell ye a secret, youngster, I'll name ye after me. - Ye shall have all yer brothers an' sisters with ye to play, - An' ye shall have yer carriage, an' ride out every day! - -[Illustration] - - Why, boy, do ye think ye'll suffer? I'm gettin' a trifle old, - But it'll be many years yet before I lose my hold; - An' if I should fall on the road, boy, still, them's yer brothers, there, - An' not a rogue of 'em ever would see ye harmed a hair! - - Say! when ye come from heaven, my little namesake dear, - Did ye see, 'mongst the little girls there, a face like this one here? - That was yer little sister--she died a year ago, - An' all of us cried like babies when they laid her under the snow! - - Hang it! if all the rich men I ever see or knew - Came here with all their traps, boy, an' offered 'em for you, - I'd show 'em to the door, Sir, so quick they'd think it odd, - Before I'd sell to another my Christmas gift from God! - -[Illustration] - - - - - DECORATION-DAY POEMS. - - - - -COVER THEM OVER. - - - Cover them over with beautiful flowers; - Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours; - Lying so silent, by night and by day, - Sleeping the years of their manhood away: - Years they had marked for the joys of the brave; - Years they must waste in the sloth of the grave. - All the bright laurels that promised to bloom - Fell to the earth when they went to the tomb. - Give them the meed they have won in the past; - Give them the honors their merits forecast; - Give them the chaplets they won in the strife; - Give them the laurels they lost with their life. - Cover them over--yes, cover them over-- - Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: - Crown in your heart these dead heroes of ours. - And cover them over with beautiful flowers! - - Cover the faces that motionless lie, - Shut from the blue of the glorious sky: - Faces once lighted with smiles of the gay-- - Faces now marred by the frown of decay. - Eyes that beamed friendship and love to your own; - Lips that sweet thoughts of affection made known; - Brows you have soothed in the day of distress; - Cheeks you have flushed by the tender caress. - Faces that brightened at War's stirring cry; - Faces that streamed when they bade you good-by; - Faces that glowed in the battle's red flame, - Paling for naught, till the Death Angel came. - Cover them over--yes, cover them over-- - Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: - Kiss in your hearts these dead heroes of ours, - And cover them over with beautiful flowers! - - Cover the hands that are resting, half-tried, - Crossed on the bosom, or low by the side: - Hands to you, mother, in infancy thrown; - Hands that you, father, close hid in your own; - Hands where you, sister, when tried and dismayed, - Hung for protection and counsel and aid; - Hands that you, brother, for faithfulness knew; - Hands that you, wife, wrung in bitter adieu. - Bravely the cross of their country they bore; - Words of devotion they wrote with their gore; - Grandly they grasped for a garland of light, - Catching the mantle of death-darkened night. - Cover them over--yes, cover them over-- - Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: - Clasp in your hearts these dead heroes of ours, - And cover them over with beautiful flowers! - - Cover the feet that, all weary and torn, - Hither by comrades were tenderly borne: - Feet that have trodden, through love-lighted ways, - Near to your own, in the old happy days; - Feet that have pressed, in Life's opening morn, - Roses of pleasure, and Death's poisoned thorn. - Swiftly they rushed to the help of the right, - Firmly they stood in the shock of the fight. - Ne'er shall the enemy's hurrying tramp - Summon them forth from their death-guarded camp; - Ne'er, till Eternity's bugle shall sound, - Will they come out from their couch in the ground. - Cover them over--yes, cover them over-- - Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: - Rough were the paths of those heroes of ours-- - Now cover them over with beautiful flowers! - - Cover the hearts that have beaten so high, - Beaten with hopes that were born but to die; - Hearts that have burned in the heat of the fray, - Hearts that have yearned for the homes far away; - Hearts that beat high in the charge's loud tramp, - Hearts that low fell in the prison's foul damp. - Once they were swelling with courage and will, - Now they are lying all pulseless and still; - Once they were glowing with friendship and love, - Now the great souls have gone soaring above. - Bravely their blood to the nation they gave, - Then in her bosom they found them a grave. - Cover them over--yes, cover them over-- - Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: - Press to your hearts these dead heroes of ours, - And cover them over with beautiful flowers! - - One there is, sleeping in yonder low tomb, - Worthy the brightest of flow'rets that bloom. - Weakness of womanhood's life was her part; - Tenderly strong was her generous heart. - Bravely she stood by the sufferer's side, - Checking the pain and the life-bearing tide; - Fighting the swift-sweeping phantom of Death, - Easing the dying man's fluttering breath; - Then, when the strife that had nerved her was o'er, - Calmly she went to where wars are no more. - Voices have blessed her now silent and dumb; - Voices will bless her in long years to come. - Cover her over--yes, cover her over-- - Blessings, like angels, around her shall hover; - Cherish the name of that sister of ours, - And cover her over with beautiful flowers! - - [Illustration: - - "THEY WHO IN MOUNTAIN AND HILL-SIDE AND DELL, - REST WHERE THEY WEARIED, AND LIE WHERE THEY FELL."] - -Cover the thousands who sleep far away-- Sleep where their friends can -not find them to-day; They who in mountain and hill-side and dell Rest -where they wearied, and lie where they fell. Softly the grass-blade -creeps round their repose; Sweetly above them the wild flow'ret blows; -Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o'erhead, Whispering names for the -patriot dead. So in our minds we will name them once more, So in our -hearts we will cover them o'er; Roses and lilies and violets blue, -Bloom in our souls for the brave and the true. Cover them over--yes, -cover them over--Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: Think -of those far-away heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful -flowers! - -When the long years have crept slowly away, E'en to the dawn of -Earth's funeral day; When, at the Archangel's trumpet and tread, Rise -up the faces and forms of the dead; When the great world its last -judgment awaits; When the blue sky shall swing open its gates, And -our long columns march silently through, Past the Great Captain, for -final review; Then for the blood that has flown for the right, Crowns -shall be given, untarnished and bright; Then the glad ear of each -war-martyred son Proudly shall hear the good judgment, "Well done." -Blessings for garlands shall cover them over--Parent, and husband, -and brother, and lover: God will reward those dead heroes of ours, And -cover them over with beautiful flowers! - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE LOVES OF THE NATIONS. - -[READ AT THE ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY, DECORATION DAY, 1884.] - - -I. - - The Grecians loved their soldier dead: - They prized the casket, though the pearl had fled. - When he who could be dangerous in the fight, - Had proved his soul's magnificence and might, - But--his poor body vanquished--with a sigh - Had laid him down upon the sands to die, - He vaulted 'mongst the nation's honored sons; - He was the love of all the living ones. - They rallied round a chief when fallen low, - To guard his numb flesh from a hostile blow. - "Rescue the dead!" was then the clarion cry; - "Rescue the dead, for we ourselves must die!" - So, oft they made, before the strife was done, - A dozen corpses more, to rescue one. - When that great agony of muscle, brain, - Heart, soul, tumultuous joy, and frantic pain, - Men call a battle, had been lost and won, - And it was told what side the gods were on, - And o'er the brows of which exhausted band - Proud Victory should press her jewelled hand, - Then from the conquered to the conquering came - A voice that made its way like tongues of flame, - And swift and chivalrous compliance bred: - "Give us a truce, that we may bury our dead!" - Six Grecian generals came from war one day, - All well esteemed, for gallant men were they; - But some one, pointing grimly at them, said, - "They on the field unburied left their dead." - -[Illustration: "AND DOES COLUMBIA LOVE HER DEAD?"] - - Then popular rage rose in a fiery flood, - And curled about them, and licked up their blood. - Why did each one fall with dissevered head? - Because the Grecians loved their soldier dead! - A man came running from Thermopylæ, - And said, "'Tis done; they all were slain but me." - Why did his fellow-Spartans sneer and hiss, - Recoil from him, as from a leper's kiss, - And say, "Take back your blood, you craven drone, - And leave it where your comrades lost their own?" - It was because the unhappy man had sped - Away from death, and left his comrades dead. - The Grecian mother, with a tearless eye, - Sent her son warward, with this mandate high: - "Now be this shield your glory or your hearse! - With it you earn my blessing or my curse! - Rather your ashes flecked with sparks of fame, - Than your live body clad in robes of shame!" - Oh yes, the Grecians loved their soldier dead! - Whether beneath the grass-blade's dainty tread, - Or 'mid the funeral pyre's majestic blaze, - They glowed within the living's envied gaze! - Yet not like ours that Grecian love could be: - They did not love the living as do we! - - -II. - - The Romans loved their soldier dead, - And brightest, grandest honors o'er them spread. - That hard, grim nation, which with fierce iron hand - Clasped by the choking throat land after land, - And blood of its own living freely shed, - Grew strangely tender with its warrior dead. - The past was dragged for deeds of might and fame, - To hang in garlands on the golden name; - The magic silver of some gifted tongue - Chaplets of praise above his body flung; - And words fell on the living, listening ear, - The dead might well awaken but to hear. - - The flags that he had captured, draped in gloom, - Before him waved--he found them at his tomb; - Sweet flowers, the freshest beauties of a day, - Made a fair garden round the hero's clay; - Great monuments wrote solemnly on high - His glory o'er the blue page of the sky; - And epitaphs, beneath the sparkling name, - Gave to the voiceless dead a tongue of flame. - Who fell with patriotic bravery, knew, - Humble or proud, his deeds would have their due; - Whoe'er with baseness threw his name away, - Knew that, when fall'n, he formed the vulture's prey. - Oh yes, the Romans loved their valiant dead, - The while their living were to victory led! - Swift-sighted Rome! you knew the intense desire - Of men to live when lesser men expire; - Knew how they struggle, e'en with latest breath, - To make their names o'erbridge the gulf of death; - Knew the last rites to one dead hero paid - Would sharpen many a living warrior's blade; - Knew how your victory-accustomed bands - Were waved along by their dead comrades' hands! - Yet not like ours that Roman love could be: - They did not love the living as do we! - - -III. - - And does Columbia love _her_ dead?-- - No word of praise or honor can be said, - No language has been given to our race, - No monument has majesty or grace, - No music, filling with weird sweets the air, - No maid or matron eloquently fair, - Naught that can feeling to expression wed, - May say how well we love our soldier dead. - If in those days when self was all above, - Men loved so well ere they were taught to love, - What deep affection may be felt and seen - From hearts taught by the love-crowned Nazarene! - -[Illustration: "WHEN A MAN THROWS THE TREASURES OF HIS LIFE."] - - - The narrow Tiber creeps through Cæsar's Rome, - The broad Potomac laves our chieftain's home; - The cascades of the Grecians murmur still, - Niagara thunders o'er the Western hill. - So seems it, in this era of heart-lore, - As if our love transcended all before. - In this republic--Giant of Free Lands, - Holding apart the oceans with strong hands-- - Has through these years in massive quiet flown - A tide of tender heart-love for its own. - When swirling floods rush through the meadows fair, - And turn them into valleys of despair, - A flood of love sweeps o'er the prosperous hills, - And brings them aid to cure their sudden ills. - When the red fire-king holds his crimson court, - And ruins homes to sate his fiendish sport, - There speeds a flame of pity through the land, - Which opens wide the generous heart and hand. - Love for the worthy living, our hearts' guide; - Love for the worthy dead, his dark-veiled bride. - Love for the living martyrs of the land, - And garlands for the dead, go hand in hand. - So, while we deck the brave ones that are gone, - Our hearts for those who live, beat truly on. - When a man throws the treasures of his life - Into the Land's fierce, self-preserving strife, - Let him be sure, in the world's battles grim, - When war is o'er, the Land will fight for him! - So shall God's blessing mingle with these flowers, - And love of dead and living both be ours; - And benedictions on our hearts be shed; - For they are living, whom we mourn as dead! - -[Illustration] - - - - -COLLEGE POEMS. - - - - -RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. - -[GRADUATING POEM, JUNE 17, 1869.] - - - Life is a cloud--e'en take it as you may; - Illumine it with Pleasure's transient ray; - Brighten its edge with Virtue; let each fold - E'en by the touch of God be flecked with gold, - While angel-wings may kindly hover near, - And angel-voices murmur words of cheer, - Still, life's a cloud, forever hanging nigh, - Forever o'er our winding pathways spread, - Ready to blacken on some saddened eye, - And hurl its bolts on some defenseless head! - - Yes, there are lives that seem to know no ill; - Paths that seem straight, with naught of thorn or hill. - The bright and glorious sun, each welcome day, - Flashes upon the flowers that deck their way, - And the soft zephyr sings a lullaby, - 'Mid rustling trees, to please the ear and eye; - And all the darling child of fortune needs, - And all his dull, half-slumbering caution heeds, - While fairy eyes their watch above him keep, - Is breath to live and weariness to sleep. - But life's a cloud! and soon the smiling sky - May wear the unwelcome semblance of a frown, - And the fierce tempest, madly rushing by, - May raise its dripping wings, and strike him down! - - When helpless infancy, for love or rest, - Lies nestling to a mother's yearning breast, - While she, enamored of its ways and wiles - As mothers only are, looks down and smiles, - And spies a thousand unsuspected charms - In the sweet babe she presses in her arms, - While he, the love-light kindled in his eyes, - Sends to her own, electrical replies, - A ray of sunshine comes for each caress, - From out the clear blue sky of happiness. - But life's a cloud! and soon the smiling face - The frowns and tears of childish grief may know, - And the love-language of the heart give place - To the wild clamor of a baby's woe. - - The days of youth are joyful, in their way; - Bare feet tread lightly, and their steps are gay. - Parental kindness grades the early path, - And shields it from the storm-king's dreaded wrath. - But there are thorns that prick the infant flesh, - And bid the youthful eyes to flow afresh, - Thorns that maturer nerves would never feel, - With wounds that bleed not less, that soon they heal. - When we look back upon our childhood days, - Look down the long and sweetly verdant ways - Wherein we gayly passed the shining hours, - We see the beauty of its blooming flowers, - We breathe its fresh and fragrant air once more, - And, counting all its many pleasures o'er, - And giving them their natural place of chief, - Forget our disappointments and our grief. - Sorrows that now were light, then weighed us down, - And claimed our tears for every surly frown. - For life's a cloud, e'en take it as we will, - The changing wind ne'er banishes or lifts; - The pangs of grief but make it darker still, - And happiness is nothing but its rifts. - - There is a joy in sturdy manhood still; - Bravery is joy; and he who says, I WILL, - And turns, with swelling heart, and dares the fates, - While firm resolve upon his purpose waits, - Is happier for the deed; and he whose share - Is honest toil, pits that against dull care. - And yet, in spite of labor, faith, or prayer, - Dark clouds and fearful o'er our paths are driven; - They take the shape of monsters in the air, - And almost shut our eager gaze from heaven! - - Disease is there, with slimy, loathsome touch, - With hollow, blood-shot eyes and eager clutch, - Longing to strike us down with pangs of pain, - And bind us there, with weakness' galling chain. - Ruin is there, with cunning ambush laid, - Waiting some panic in the ranks of trade, - Some profitless endeavor, or some trust - By recreant knave abused, to snatch the crust - From out the mouths of them we love the best, - And bring gaunt hunger, an unwelcome guest. - Disgrace is there, of honest look bereft, - Truth in his right hand, falsehood in his left, - Pride in his mouth, the devil in his eye, - His garment truth, his cold black heart a lie, - Forging the bolts to blast some honored name; - Longing to see some victim wronged or wrong; - To see him step into the pool of shame, - Or soiled by loved ones that to him belong. - - A dark cloud hovers over every zone-- - The cloud of ignorance. The great unknown, - Defying comprehension, still hangs low - Above our feeble minds. When we who now - Have stumbled 'neath the ever-varying load - That marks the weary student's royal road, - Have hurried over verbs in headlong haste, - And various thorny paths of language traced; - Have run our muddled heads, with rueful sigh, - 'Gainst figures truthful, that yet seemed to lie; - Have peeped into the Sciences, and learned - How much we do not know; have bravely turned - Our guns of eloquence on forest trees, - And preached grave doctrines to the wayward breeze; - When we have done all this, the foggy cloud, - With scarce a rift, is still above us bowed; - And we are children, on some garden's verge, - Groping for flowers the opposing wall beneath, - Who, flushed and breathless, may at last emerge, - With a few scanty blossoms for a wreath. - - But never was a cloud so thick and black, - But it might some time break, and on its track - The glorious sun come streaming. Never, too, - So but its threads might bleach to lighter hue, - Was sorrow's mantle of so deep a dye. - And he who, peering at the troubled sky, - Looks past the clouds, or looks the cloud-rifts through, - Or, finding none, remembers their great worth, - And strikes them for himself, is that man who - Shows the completest wisdom of this earth. - - When one stands forth in Reason's glorious light, - Stands in his own proud consciousness of right, - Laments his faults, his virtues does not boast, - Studies all creatures--and himself the most-- - Knowing the way wherewith his faults to meet, - Or, vanquished by them, owning his defeat, - He pays the penalty as should true men, - And pitches battle with the foe again; - When, giving all their proper due and heed, - He yet has power, when such shall be the need, - To go his way, unshackled, true, and free, - And bid the world go hanged, if needs must be, - He strikes a rift for his unfearing eye - Through the black cloud of low servility: - A cloud that's decked the Orient all these years; - 'Neath whose low-bending folds, 'mid groans and tears, - Priestcraft has heaped its huge, ill-gotten gains, - And tyrants forged their bloody, clanking chains; - A cloud, that when the _Mayflower's_ precious cup - The misty, treacherous deep held proudly up, - By waves that leaped and dashed each other o'er, - But onward still the ark of Freedom bore, - Some fair and peaceful Ararat to find, - Plumed its black wings, and swept not far behind. - To-day it lowers o'er this great, free land-- - O'er farms and workshops, offices and spires-- - Its baleful shadow casts on every hand, - And darkens Church and State and household fires. - - It is a thing to pity and to blame, - A useless, vile, humiliating shame, - A silent slander on the Heaven-born soul, - Decked with the signet of its own control, - A flaw upon the image of our God, - When men, obedient to some Mogul's nod-- - When men, the sockets of whose addled brains - Are blessed with some illuminate remains - Wherefrom the glim of reason still is shed, - Blow out the light, and send their wits to bed; - And, taking as their sole dictator, then. - Some little, thundering god of speech or pen, - Aping submissively the smile or frown - Of some great brazen face that beats them down, - Or silenced by some lubricated tongue, - Covered with borrowed words and neatly hung-- - They yield their judgments up to others' wills, - And take grave creeds like sugar-coated pills; - And, with their weakness tacitly confessed, - Like the unfeathered fledgelings of a nest, - When the old bird comes home with worms and flies-- - With half a smile and half a knowing frown, - They open wide their mouths, and shut their eyes, - And seem to murmur softly, "_Drop it down_." - - He who will creep about some great man's feet, - The honeyed fragrance of his breath to meet, - Or follow him about, with crafty plan, - And cringe for smiles and favors, is no man. - A fraction of a man, and all his own, - Although his numerator be but one, - With unity divided up so fine - That thousands range themselves beneath the line-- - Ay, one so insignificantly small - That quick accountants count him not at all-- - Is better far, and vastly nobler, too, - Than some great swelling cipher among men, - Naught of itself, and nothing else to do - Except to help some little one count ten! - - Let us e'en strike, with courage true endowed, - Straight at the centre of this murky cloud, - And sweep its worthless vapor from the earth. - Take sense for coin; opinions at their worth; - Conviction at its cost; dictation, when - Our minds and souls are bankrupt--hardly then! - When Freedom's sons and daughters will do this, - Our land will know a day of happiness, - Fit for such joy as never yet was seen, - E'en when Emancipation tried her keen - Bright blade upon the galling chains of steel, - And stamped the action with the nation's seal. - E'en when the cable its initial spark - Brought flashing through the ocean's deep and dark; - E'en when was fixed, with far-resounding strokes, - With song, and praise, and thankfulness, and mirth, - The golden fastening of the chain that yokes - The two great restless oceans of the earth! - - But over all, and round about us spread, - Hangs the black cloud of Death: a thunder-head, - Yet ominously silent; moving on, - While from its threatening folds, so deep and dark, - The forkèd lightning, ever and anon, - Shoots for some life, and never fails its mark. - -[Illustration: "E'EN WHEN WAS FIXED, WITH FAR-RESOUNDING STROKES."] - - - There was one classmate is not here to-day; - Many an oak is blasted on its way, - Many a growing hope is overthrown. - What might have been, his early growth had shown, - What was, our love and tears for him may tell; - He lived, he toiled, he faded, and he fell. - When our friend lay within that narrow room - Men call a coffin--in its cheerless gloom - Himself the only tenant, and asleep - In a long slumber, terrible and deep; - When at the open door his pale, sad face - Appeared to us, without a look or trace - Of recognition in its ghastly hue, - Soon to be hid forever from our view; - When, with his sightless eyes to heaven upturned, - Wherefrom his royal soul upon them burned. - He waited for his last rites to be said, - With the pathetic patience of the dead; - When tenderly his manly form we lay - In its last couch, with covering of clay; - Who in that mournful duty had a part, - But felt the cloud of Death upon his heart? - But when we thought how his unfettered soul, - Free from his poor sick body's weak control, - Pluming its wings at the Eternal throne, - Might take through realms of space its rapid flight, - And find a million joys to us unknown, - The cloud was rifted by a ray of light. - - Old class of '69! together, still, - We've journeyed up the rough and toilsome hill; - Seeking the gems to labor ne'er denied, - Plucking the fruits that deck the mountain-side. - Now, in the glory of this summer day, - We part, and each one goes his different way. - Let each, with hope to fire his yearning soul, - Still hurry onward to the shining goal. - The way at times may dark and weary seem, - No ray of sunshine on our path may beam, - The dark clouds hover o'er us like a pall, - And gloom and sadness seem to compass all; - But still, with honest purpose, toil we on; - And if our steps be upright, straight, and true. - Far in the east a golden light shall dawn, - And the bright smile of God come bursting through. - -[Illustration] - - - - -BROTHERS AND FRIENDS. - -[REUNION OF [Greek: Adelphoi kai philoi] SOCIETY, JUNE 16, 1875.] - - - Would I might utter all my heart can feel! - But there are thoughts weak words will not reveal; - The rarest fruitage is the last to fall; - The strongest language hath no words at all. - - When first the uncouth student comes in sight-- - A sturdy plant, just struggling toward the light-- - And timidly invades his classic home, - And gazes at the high-perched college dome, - Striving, through eyes with a vague yearning dim, - To spy some future glory there for him, - A child in thought, a man in strong desire, - A clod of clay, vexed by a restless fire, - - When, homesick, heart-sick, tired, and desolate, - He leans himself 'gainst Learning's iron gate, - While all the future frowns upon his track, - And all the past conspires to pull him back; - When, with tired resolution in his looks, - He bends above the cabalistic books, - And strives, with knitted forehead throbbing hot, - To learn what older students have forgot; - And wonders how the Romans and the Greeks - Could cry aloud and spare their jaws and cheeks; - And wants the Algebraic author put - On an equation, tied there, head and foot, - Which then, with all Reduction's boasted strength, - May be expanded to prodigious length; - When he reflects, with rueful, pain-worn phiz, - What a sad, melancholy dog he is, - And how much less unhappy and forlorn - Are all those students who are not yet born; - When Inexperience like a worm is twined - Around the clumsy fingers of his mind, - And Discipline, a stranger yet unknown, - Struts grandly by and leaves him all alone; - What cheers him better than to feel and see - Some other one as badly off as he? - Or the sincere advice and kindly aid - Of those well versed in Study's curious trade? - What help such solace and improvement lends - As the hand-grasp of Brothers and of Friends? - - When, with a wildly ominous halloo, - The frisky Freshman shuffles into view, - And shouts aloud the war-cry of his clan, - And makes friends with the devil like a man: - When, looking upward at the other classes, - He dubs them as three tandem-teams of asses, - And, scarcely knowing what he does it for, - Vows against them unmitigated war, - And aims to show them that though they may tread - In stately, grand procession o'er his head, - The animated pathway that they scorn, - May sometimes bristle with a hidden thorn; - When, with a vigilance that to nothing yields, - He scans the fruitage of the neighboring fields, - And in the solemn night-time doth entwine - Affection's fingers round the melon-vine; - When the tired wagon from its sheltering shed - To strange, uncouth localities is led, - And, with the night for a dissecting-room, - Is analyzed amid the friendly gloom; - When the hushed rooster, cheated of his cry, - From his spoiled perch bids this vain world good-bye; - When, in the chapel, an unwilling guest, - And living sacrifice, a cow doth rest; - When from the tower, the bell's notes, pealing down, - Rouse up the fireman from the sleeping town, - Who, rushing to the scene, with duty fired, - Finds his well-meant assistance unrequired, - And, creeping homeward, steadily doth play - Upon the third commandment all the way; - When are fired off, with mirth-directed aims, - At the staid Alma Mater, various games, - As feline juveniles themselves regale - In the lithe folds of the maternal tail, - And when these antics have gone far enough, - Comes from her paw a well-considered cuff, - What more to soothe the chastened spirit tends - Than sympathy from Brothers and from Friends? - - When the deep Sophomore has just begun - The study of his merits, one by one, - And found that he, a bright scholastic blade, - Is fearfully and wonderfully made; - Discovers how much greater is his share - Of genius than he was at first aware; - When, with a ken beyond his tender age, - He sweeps o'er History's closely printed page, - Conjecturing how this world so long endured, - With his co-operation unsecured; - When, with his geometrical survey - Trigonometrically brought in play, - He scans two points, with firm, unmoved design - To join them sooner than by one straight line; - When he, with oratoric hand astir, - Rolls back the tide of ages--as it were; - When Cicero he decides for reading fit, - And tolerates happy Horace for his wit; - When he across Zoölogy takes sight, - To see what creatures were created right, - And looks the plants that heaven has fashioned through, - To see if they were rightly finished, too; - - When he his aid to any cause can lend, - In readiness, on short notice, to ascend - From any well-worn point, secure and soon, - In his small oratorical balloon, - Expecting, when his high trip's end appears, - Descent upon a parachute of cheers; - When he decides, beneath a load of care, - What whiskered monogram his face shall wear; - When, from his mind's high shoulders cropping out, - Linguistic feathers constantly do sprout, - Which, ere they meet the cool outsider's scoff, - Require a quiet, friendly picking-off; - What better to this healthy process lends, - Than the critiques of Brothers and of Friends? - - When the spruce Junior, not disposed to shirk, - Begins to get down fairly to his work, - Strives to run foremost in the college race, - Or at least fill a creditable place; - When he bears, o'er the rough and hard highway, - The heat and burden of the college day, - And hastes--his mental lungs all out of breath-- - As if it were a race of life and death; - When with some little doubt his brain is fraught, - That he's not quite so brilliant as he thought, - And he would strengthen his lame talent still, - By wrapping 'round the bandage of his will; - When, undergoing the reaction drear - That follows up the Sophomoric year, - He finds each task much harder than before, - And tarries long at every phrase's door, - And pauses o'er his dull oration's page, - Then tears it into pieces in a rage; - When, had he fifty ink-stands, he could throw - Each at some devil fraught with fancied woe; - And when, perchance, atop of all this gloom, - In his heart's world there's yet sufficient room - For Cupid to come blundering through the dark, - And make his sensibilities a mark, - And, viewing each the other from afar, - Learning and Love frown dolefully, and spar; - What for his trouble-phantoms makes amends - Like the support of Brothers and of Friends? - - When, with a strengthened soul and chastened brain, - The Senior who has labored not in vain - Looks back upon the four eventful years - To see if any fruitfulness appears, - When he stands, somewhat shadowed by remorse, - In the bright Indian Summer of the course, - And muses, had each opportunity - Been seized, how smooth his present path might be; - When, having blundered through each college hall, - Bumping his head 'gainst Inexperience' wall, - There burst upon him through the window-panes, - Broad Knowledge' deep ravines and fertile plains; - When, standing at the door, with gaze of doubt, - He draws on his world-wrappings, and looks out - Into the chillness of the winter's day, - And almost wishes that he still might stay, - What nearer to his beating heart extends, - Than parting with his Brothers and his Friends? - - When he at last has bid the school good-by, - And finds that many matters go awry; - Finds much amid Earth's uncongenial fog, - Not mentioned in the college catalogue; - Finds that The World, in writing his name down, - Forgets, somehow, to add the letters on - Which serve to make his fellow-mortals see - How little rests behind a big degree; - Finds, also, that it is inclined to speak - Elsewise than in the Latin or the Greek; - Finds that the sharp blade of his brightened mind - Gets dulled upon the pachydermal kind; - That The World by Declension understands - The sliding-down of houses, stocks, and lands; - And that Translation means, in this world's bother, - Translation from one pocket to another; - Mistrusts that if The World has, as is sung, - A tail by which, perchance, it may be "slung," - The blessed place so many hands infold, - He can not find whereon he may take hold; - Finds that he best makes ground o'er this world's road, - As he his college nonsense doth unload; - What sweeter sound with Life's alarum blends - Than the kind voice of Brothers and of Friends? - - * * * * * - - And so, to-day, we live our old lives o'er-- - The Freshman gay, the smiling Sophomore, - The anxious Junior, and the Senior proud, - The care-immersed Alumnus, sober-browed; - To shake once more the quick-responding hand, - To trade in jokes no others understand; - Our fish-lines into Memory's ponds to throw - For stories which were left there long ago - (Which, like most fishy ventures, as is known, - Through many changing years have bred and grown); - To beat the big drum of our vanity, - To clash the cymbals of our boisterous glee; - To bind again the old-time friendships fast, - To fight once more the battles of the past. - - Beneath the blue of this clear sunlit sky, - Beneath the storm-cloud, rudely lingering nigh, - From night to night--from changing day to day-- - Our grand Society has won its way. - And as the lichen plant, when tempest-torn, - And roughly from its native hill-side borne, - Sucks moisture from the whirlwind's shivering form, - And grows, while yet hurled onward by the storm, - And when at last its voyage well is o'er, - Thrives sweeter, purer, stronger than before, - Our gallant little band has ever grown - Stronger for all the struggles it has known; - And, 'mid the smiles and frowns that heaven out-sends, - Our hearts still beat as Brothers and as Friends. - -[Illustration: "HOW HAPPY ARE WE!"] - - - - -OUR MARCH THROUGH THE PAST. - -[ALUMNI REUNION--1885.] - - - When the tints of the morning had turned into gray, - And the sun of our lives fast was finding its day, - When we stood on that line where youth's journey was done, - And our manhood and womanhood scarce had begun, - When the word was no longer "How happy are we!" - But "What can we suffer, and conquer, and _be_?" - When the prairies of youth, with fresh flowers covered o'er, - And all shaded with groves, were our playgrounds no more; - And mountains stepped into the mist, from afar, - And over the highest one's top, gleamed a star, - 'Twas whispered to us, "If those heights you ascend, - Much training its aid to your forces must lend; - Ere you in the future the conflict have won, - You must know what the minds of past ages have done." - Then the old Alma Mater, with welcoming sign, - Said, "That's what _I'm_ for; students, fall into line!" - And with hearts still at home, but with eyes forward cast, - We started away on our march through the past. - - 'Twas a long, weary march! full of toil and of pain; - There were curbings of body, and lashings of brain; - There were sinkings of heart, fraught with agony dire; - There were roads we must walk full of thorns and of fire. - For if he who much strength with the body would gain, - Must clamber his way through fatigue and through pain, - Then he who would mental efficiency find, - Must suffer and strive with the nerves of the mind. - If we turned all these woes in the quartz-mill of truth, - And crushed out the gold from the woes of our youth, - If we knew that all pain, when 'tis wisely endured, - Will be paid for ten times, and the wound neatly cured, - Then we gathered rich profits that doubtless will last - Through ages to come--in our march through the past. - - 'Twas a bright, glorious march! full of joys that were new; - Of hopes that kept budding, and friends that kept true; - And powers just awaking and op'ning their eyes, - That dashed through our souls with a thrill of surprise; - Of facts 'twas a luxury just to possess; - Of growth that was full of the fire of success. - To you who now fret under college control, - Keep this truth in your mind--let it call on your soul: - You never will find, through terrestrial source, - A pathway more smooth than the old college course. - In spite of the foes that may lie in the way, - In spite of the clouds that may blot the best day, - In spite of the gibes ignoramuses throw forth, - In spite of the cares of the world, flesh, etc., - There's nothing you'll find, tho' you live a long while, - That will show you so many sweet flowers to the mile, - Though running through some woeful weeds on the way, - As this same college course you are taking to-day. - When, nearing Death-station, on life's crooked track, - You scan your time-table, and take a look back - O'er all of the different stations you've passed, - You'll own, as you trundle along to the last, - That nothing will strike you with such pleasant force, - As that time that you spent in the old college course! - You will find that it lighted your life, all the way, - And gave you material for effort, each day; - That you traveled much freer, for the luggage amassed - In the work-checkered days of your march through the past. - - 'Twas a bonnie October, as autumn months go, - From our camp on the tolerably placid St. Jo., - We shouldered our--books, for grim heroism's home, - For sweet, wicked, charming, licentious old Rome! - -[Illustration: "'TWAS A BRIGHT, GLORIOUS MARCH! FULL OF JOYS THAT WERE -NEW."] - - - And ere the last month of our journey was through, - What picturesque characters came to our view! - Came Cicero, full of extremes good and bad; - The only great orator Rome ever had! - Philosopher, statesman, attorney, he rose - The higher for each of his enemies blows! - A lesson to halt not that foes be appeased, - And not to turn back when some fools are displeased. - Keep on, with what light heaven will lend to your eyes; - If fools call you fool, 'tis a sign you are wise. - Came Livy, who, when we approached him, first fired - A volley of Preface, that made us all tired; - Describer of Rome, both as glorious and base, - With mod rate correctness, and infinite grace; - Who told how a wolf, in her blood-spattered home, - Took charge of the two city fathers of Rome; - How Remus resigned, from some reasons of weight, - And Romulus seemed to endure it, "first-rate;" - How his guests from the Sabines escaped with their lives, - But left all their best-looking daughters for wives - (Let this be a warning, by fathers e er carried; - Keep daughters from school if you don't want them married!); - Yes, what characters old, and yet startlingly new, - Did that same historian pilot us to! - Came Hannibal, trapper of Romans; whose might - Put even the courage of heroes to flight! - Unhelped by his own, and not conquered e'en then, - Till the sun was eclipsed and made cowards his men; - Yet even, when _down_--full of age and neglect-- - His enemies feared him, and gave him respect! - Came brave, grand Horatius, who kept bridge one day, - And took bloody toll from whoe'er came that way; - Then swam back in triumph--the pride of all nations-- - And hero of--several school declamations! - If we used these fierce stories our courage to feed, - And learned that Resolve is the master of need, - If we made up our minds that success is a prize - That under the rubbish of hard labor lies, - That like Rome, with its victory-banners unfurled, - We would fight till we conquered our share of the world, - But unlike old Rome, we would _not_ settle down, - And let Sloth and Luxury tarnish our crown, - Then we gained o'er ourselves a good influence vast, - From that savage old land--in our march through the past. - - What country is this, that looms brightly to me, - Washed well by the waves of the Ægean sea? - 'Tis the land where blind Homer, with harp of pure gold, - Sang stories that never will cease to be told; - Where Socrates, keeping an unruffled face, - Took his cup of cold poison, with infinite grace; - Where brave old Leonidas glory achieved, - Was at home in Thermopylæ's pass, and received; - Who to eloquence threw all a hero could give, - And died--that a thousand orations might live! - Where youthful Demosthenes, famous to be, - With pebbles for troches, harangued the whole sea; - While only himself and the wild breezes heard, - And the ocean, though masculine, got the last word; - How bad old Ulysses, on water and land, - Showed how an old robber could even be grand; - Where grim old Diogenes comfort defied, - And lived--a tub full of the meanest of pride; - Who flattered himself he had no one to thank, - And earned--though received not--the name of a crank; - And other old worthies, and unworthies, too, - Whose sorrows and joys will forever be new. - If these and their motives we struggled to reach, - And studied their natures, as well as their speech, - If we went through those mines of thought silver and gold, - That seldom run barren and never grow old, - Took what we could carry, and held to it fast, - Then a good growing time, was our march through the past! - - What country is this? where some strange-looking men - Make odd-looking figures with pencil and pen; - The ghost of old Daboll stalks grimly about; - And this one is Greenleaf--now, Thomson steps out; - Charles Davies has come, arm-and-arm with Bourdon, - While Robinson, Loomis, and others crowd on. - Conundrums they offer; strange riddles they state; - And set each poor wretch to maltreating his slate. - How the hands of a clock meet at high twelve--and then, - When will that old time-piece its fists clench again? - How two famous trav'lers, who never have met, - Set out for some place (and have not arrived yet!); - How a man had three sons: to the first one he gave - One-third of what he from the others could save; - The others both shared, in a figurative way - (Those boys haven't a cent of their cash to this day!); - How a person had four casks: the first of which, filled - From the second, left four-sevenths of what was not spilled - (I always stopped right in the midst of my tasks, - To guess at the taste of the stuff in those casks); - How a man had ten daughters: the first one's age reckoned - Three-fourths of eight-ninths of nine-tenths of the second; - Numbers 3, 4, and 5, also 6, 7, and 8, - Used also in problems their ages to state; - The other two, being quite chickens, in fact, - Dropped ciphering, and stated their ages exact. - (If you went through that long computation again, - You'd find those girls just the same age they were then.) - Then the triangles, rectangles, quadrangles too, - And other sad wrangles we had to go through; - The sines and the co-sines that at us were hurled, - Till we wished that there wasn't such a thing in the world; - These fell on our minds, like a cold winter blast, - But strengthened us much, in our march through the past. - - So 'mid all these countries we marched, night and day, - And many the strange things that came in our way; - The _reasons_, that seemed from us walled, hedged, and fenced; - The roots of dead verbs, that we stumbled against; - The pitiless logic of syllogism thin, - That puzzled us where to conclude or begin; - Rough notes of philosophy, harder than sweet, - That pained our teeth, ere we cracked through to the meat; - Our fright when "Analogy" round us careened, - And made Joseph Butler show up like a fiend; - The chemistry that in our minds somewhat sank, - And showed us what queer things we ate, breathed, and drank; - Zoology, where 'twas laboriously shown - That man isn't the only queer animal known; - We studied the rocks--rugged children of flame-- - And sweet-scented flowers, and the fields whence they came. - Then our innocent pastimes we cannot forget, - Though some not the sensiblest mirth ever met; - And most of them--now that vacation grows long-- - Seem rather uncalled for, if not rather wrong. - The old standard jokes that young blood keeps to spare, - Such as borrowing wagons to lend to the air, - And sampling much fruit--alas! stolen and sweet! - To learn if 'twas fit for the owner to eat; - And making strange brutes go to college by force-- - These all seem a part of the regular course. - If from such foolish pranks, we have garnered the truth - That blood frisks and glows, when 'tis seasoned with youth, - That young nerves with life and with mischief must thrill, - And youth may be gay, and have principle still, - If we that experience give a kind use, - And form for the faults of the young, an excuse, - And not at each bubble of sport stand aghast-- - Our fun bore some fruit as we marched through the past. - - But memory is wide; and remains the abode - Of the girls and the boys that we left on the road! - They started off with us, their hopes were as bright - As any of ours--and their spirits as light; - Their efforts were brave, and their motives were good; - And they made the long march just as well as they could. - These gold days of June, each a floral surprise, - Gave a thrill to their hearts, and a gleam to their eyes; - The meadows that mantle yon valley's cool breast, - To them, as to us, were the symbols of rest; - By them as by us the fresh hill-sides were seen, - When corn-fields were tossing their ribbons of green; - For them the wide grain waved its flags richly free, - And promised fruition, in days soon to be; - For them faithful hands gave a clasp that was true, - And proud kindred hearts kept their triumphs in view; - They marched by our side, with no burden of dread-- - They saw not the grave, just a few steps ahead; - They looked for the time, when sweet blessings would grow - From the rich earthly truths they had struggled to know; - But too weary the march, or too heavy the load; - And they laid down their armor and died on the road. - Whatever the splendors and joys of to-day, - Whatever the flowers that may flash in our way, - Whatever our joy at assembling once more, - Though God in his love grant the same o'er and o'er, - We will always remember, with sweet love bestowed, - The names of those comrades who fell on the road. - The flags of our triumphs shall droop at half mast, - For those whom the future claimed out of the past! - - Not as youths now we meet, but grave women and men; - 'Mid bright summer days, we must soon part again. - We know not the future, or what hands our own - May clasp, when another half decade is flown; - Our efforts may yet for a season be told - (For we re not so distressing, confoundedly old; - The crows may have stood at the edge of our eyes, - And left some tracks there that we haven't learned to prize; - The frost in our hair may be carelessly flung; - But our minds and our hearts and our souls may be young), - Still, grass-stalks, e'en now, may have lifted their heads, - That may die of the spades that will make our last beds; - But whatever our fate--to enjoy or endure-- - To quote from great Webster, 'The past is secure;' - So I would to-night move a vote of warm thanks, - To the living and dead who commanded our ranks; - To our enemies, who, in their short busy stay, - Did all that they could, to encumber our way; - Who postured and crouched in their poisonous slime, - Becoming step-ladders, on which we could climb; - Who told our worst faults, and then lied themselves hoarse, - And spurred us along with their tongues, in our course; - Who lived low--conceived, intellectual moles-- - "Next door to" our bodies--but not to our souls. - The rattlesnake, viper, and toad have a use, - And so has the vile tongue that rots with abuse. - A thank to the friends who looked high for our mark, - And lighted the way when 'twas dreary and dark; - For he that has groped through the fog of despair, - 'Till he fought his way out to the light and the air, - Has one thing he never forgets, you will find; - And that's the first help of a friend that is kind. - Do you think, O true friend! who for e'en a short while, - Have helped a young student with deed, word, or smile, - That his memory, howe'er distracted or vexed, - Will drop out your name, in this world, or the next? - Among the good angels of earth you are classed, - You who helped us along in our way through the past! - - Forward march! though that past lies in burial lands, - We must toil in the future, with heads, hearts, and hands; - Forward march! is the order that comes from on high, - And rules the great college that graces the sky! - They say Art is long, and they say very true; - But so, by-the-way, is Eternity, too! - No study to-day gets our effort and love, - But has its completion in text-books above; - No work over which the clouds struggle and beat, - But finished may be, with the clouds neath our feet; - Then with eyes upon Earth, but with hearts forward cast, - We will thank happy Heaven for our march through the past! - -[Illustration] - - - - -THAT DAY WE GRADUATED. - - - We've had _some_ first-class fruitage, boys, - 'Mid all the bad pears in our baskets, - And there are several jewelled toys - In Memory's queer, old-fashioned caskets; - Where silver morning bells will chime - Some certain tones that ne'er were mated, - From that unprecedented time-- - That grand old day, we graduated! - - It was a sheaf of hopes and fears; - A fate that came, close covered, to us; - It was the last day of four years - That were to build up or undo us; - The hour we wished and dreaded most, - From which we shrunk, for which we waited; - That inward fear and outward boast-- - That fine old day we graduated! - - A thousand heads and hearts were there, - With more or less discernment gifted; - Our enemies with hopeful stare, - Our friends with look of kindness lifted. - We saw gay chaplets, wondering whom - To crown their brilliant lives were fated; - Bouquets looked puzzled 'mid their bloom, - That fragrant day we graduated! - - And Beauty held a precious prize - Of smiles for our intense oblations, - And looked from many-colored eyes - Made quizzical by old flirtations; - And Learning glanced us through and through, - With cold astuteness that we hated; - We knew how much we never knew, - That trying day we graduated! - - We rose, with super-student care, - Brimful of fear and information; - We had about ten minutes there - To put four years in one oration. - A thousand judgments on our lives - From that important hour were dated: - How queer, that one of us survives - That fateful day we graduated! - - How all the sad, uneasy past - Was wrenched from History's possession, - In cartridges of periods cast, - And fired in rounds of quick succession! - Right's winsome look, Wrong's loathsome shape, - Were unequivocally stated; - And lucky that which could escape - Us all--that day we graduated! - - And when our guns were at full play, - As o'er the creaking stage we hauled them, - Some first-class words got strayed away, - And would not come back when we called them - We had to grope and stumble round, - Just where our style was most inflated: - Humility and nerve, we found, - Were trumps, that day we graduated! - - Ah me! it all was bitter-sweet-- - That time of music, flowers, and splendor; - The future life we marched to meet, - The past, with memories rich and tender. - A sombre fragrance filled the air-- - A mournful joy ne'er duplicated; - Both night and morning lingered there, - That changeful day we graduated! - - And when "Good-bye" came, grimly sure, - And handed us our hands at parting, - We saw on what a lonely tour - Of out-door effort we were starting; - We who had wrangled, schemed, and fought, - As dear old friends each other rated; - Love twined about us, as it ought, - That solemn day we graduated! - -[Illustration] - - - - -POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH. - - - - -THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. - - -I. - - 'Twas night in the beautiful city, - The famous and wonderful city, - The proud and magnificent city, - The Queen of the North and the West. - The riches of nations were gathered in wondrous and plentiful store; - The swift-speeding bearers of Commerce were waiting on river and shore; - The great staring walls towered skyward, with visage undaunted and bold, - And said, "We are ready, O Winter! come on with your hunger and cold! - Sweep down with your storms from the northward! come out from your - ice-guarded lair! - Our larders have food for a nation! our wardrobes have clothing to - spare! - For off from the corn-bladed prairies, and out from the valleys and - hills, - The farmer has swept us his harvests, the miller has emptied his mills; - And here, in the lap of our city, the treasures of autumn shall rest, - In golden-crowned, glorious Chicago, the Queen of the North and the - West!" - - -II. - - 'Twas night in the church-guarded city, - The temple and altar-decked city, - The turreted, spire-adorned city, - The Queen of the North and the West. - And out from the beautiful temples that wealth in its fullness had made, - And out from the haunts that were humble, where Poverty peacefully - prayed, - Where praises and thanks had been offered to Him where they rightly - belonged, - In peacefulness quietly homeward the worshiping multitude thronged. - - The Pharisee, laden with riches and jewelry, costly and rare, - Who proudly deigned thanks to Jehovah he was not as other men are; - The penitent, crushed in his weakness, and laden with pain and with sin; - The outcast who yearningly waited to hear the glad bidding, "Come in;" - And thus went they quietly homeward, with sins and omissions confessed, - In spire-adorned, templed Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West. - - -III. - - 'Twas night in the sin-burdened city, - The turbulent, vice-laden city, - The sin-compassed, rogue-haunted city, - Though Queen of the North and the West. - And low in their caves of pollution great beasts of humanity growled; - And over his money-strewn table the gambler bent fiercely, and scowled; - And men with no seeming of manhood, with countenance flaming and fell, - Drank deep from the fire-laden fountains that spring from the rivers of - hell; - And men with no seeming of manhood, who dreaded the coming of day, - Prowled, cat-like, for blood-purchased plunder from men who were better - than they; - And men with no seeming of manhood, whose dearest-craved glory was shame, - Whose joys were the sorrows of others, whose harvests were acres of - flame, - Slunk, whispering and low, in their corners, with bowie and pistol - tight-pressed, - In rogue-haunted, sin-cursed Chicago, though Queen of the North and the - West. - - -IV. - - 'Twas night in the elegant city, - The rich and voluptuous city, - The beauty-thronged, mansion-decked city, - Gay Queen of the North and the West. - And childhood was placidly resting in slumber untroubled and deep; - And softly the mother was fondling her innocent baby to sleep; - And maidens were dreaming of pleasures and triumphs the future should - show, - And scanning the brightness and glory of joys they were never to know; - And firesides were cheerful and happy, and Comfort smiled sweetly around; - But grim Desolation and Ruin looked into the window and frowned. - And pitying angels looked downward, and gazed on their loved ones below, - And longed to reach forth a deliverance, and yearned to beat backward the - foe; - But Pleasure and Comfort were reigning, nor danger was spoken or guessed, - In beautiful, golden Chicago, gay Queen of the North and the West. - - -V. - - Then up in the streets of the city, - The careless and negligent city, - The soon to be sacrificed city, - Doomed Queen of the North and the West, - Crept, softly and slyly, so tiny it hardly was worthy the name, - Crept, slowly and soft through the rubbish, a radiant serpent of flame. - The South-wind and West-wind came shrieking, "Rouse up in your strength - and your ire! - For many a year they have chained you, and crushed you, O demon of fire! - For many a year they have bound you, and made you their servant and - slave! - Now, rouse you, and dig for this city a fiery and desolate grave! - Freight heavy with grief and with wailing her world-scattered pride and - renown! - Charge straight on her mansions of splendor, and battle her battlements - down! - And we, the strong South-wind and West-wind, with thrice-doubled fury - possessed, - Will sweep with you over this city, this Queen of the North and the - West!" - - -VI. - - Then straight at the great, quiet city, - The strong and o'erconfident city, - The ruined and tempest-tossed city, - Doomed Queen of the North and the West, - - The Fire-devil rallied his legions, and speeded them forth on the wind, - With tinder and treasures before him, with ruins and tempests behind. - The tenement crushed 'neath his footstep, the mansion oped wide at his - knock; - And walls that had frowned him defiance, they trembled and fell with a - shock; - And down on the hot, smoking house-tops came raining a deluge of fire; - And serpents of flame writhed and clambered, and twisted on steeple and - spire; - And beautiful, glorious Chicago, the city of riches and fame, - Was swept by a storm of destruction, was flooded by billows of flame. - The Fire-king loomed high in his glory, with crimson and flame-streaming - crest, - And grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago, doomed Queen of the North and - the West. - - -VII. - - Then swiftly the quick-breathing city, - The fearful and panic-struck city, - The startled and fire-deluged city, - Rushed back from the South and the West. - - And loudly the fire-bells were clanging, and ringing their funeral notes; - And loudly wild accents of terror came pealing from thousands of throats; - And loud was the wagon's deep rumbling, and loud the wheel's clatter and - creak; - And loud was the calling for succor from those who were sightless and - weak; - And loud were the hoofs of the horses, and loud was the tramping of feet; - And loud was the gale's ceaseless howling through fire-lighted alley and - street; - - But louder, yet louder, the crashing of roofs and of walls as they fell; - And louder, yet louder, the roaring that told of the coming of hell. - The Fire-king threw back his black mantle from off his great - blood-dappled breast, - And sneered in the face of Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West. - - [Illustration: "AND LOUDLY WILD ACCENTS OF TERROR CAME PEALING FROM - THOUSANDS OF THROATS."] - - -VIII. - - And there, in the terrible city, - The panic-struck, terror-crazed city, - The flying and flame-pursued city, - The torch of the North and the West, - - A beautiful maiden lay moaning, as many a day she had lain, - In fetters of wearisome weakness, and throbbings of pitiful pain. - The amorous Fire-king came to her--he breathed his hot breath on - her cheek; - She fled from his touch, but he caught her, and held her, all - pulseless and weak. - The Fire-king he caught her and held her, in warm and unyielding - embrace; - He wrapped her about in his vestments, he pressed his hot lips to her - face; - Then, sated and palled with his triumph, he scornfully flung her away, - And, blackened and crushed in the ruins, unknown and uncoffined, she - lay-- - Lay, blackened and crushed by the Fire-king, in ruined and desolate - rest, - Like ravished and ruined Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West. - - - - -IX. - - 'Twas morn in the desolate city, - The ragged and ruin-heaped city, - The homeless and hot-smoking city, - The grief of the North and the West. - - But down from the West came the bidding, "O Queen, lift in courage thy - head! - Thy friends and thy neighbors awaken, and hasten, with raiment and - bread." - - And up from the South came the bidding, "Cheer up, fairest Queen of the - Lakes! - For comfort and aid shall be coming from out our savannas and brakes!" - And down from the North came the bidding, 'O city, be hopeful of - cheer! - We've somewhat to spare for thy sufferers, for all of our suffering - here!" - And up from the East came the bidding, "O city, be dauntless and bold! - Look hither for food and for raiment lock hither for credit and gold!" - And all through the world went the bidding, "Bring hither your - choicest and best, - For weary and hungry Chicago, sad Queen of the North and the West!" - - -X. - - O crushed but invincible city! - O broken but fast-rising city! - O glorious and unconquered city, - Still Queen of the North and the West! - - The long, golden years of the future, with treasures increasing and - rare, - Shall glisten upon thy rich garments, shall twine in the folds of thy - hair! - From out the black heaps of thy ruins new columns of beauty shall - rise, - And glittering domes shall fling grandly our nation's proud flag to - the skies! - From off thy wide prairies of splendor the treasures of autumn shall - pour, - The breezes shall sweep from the northward, and hurry the ships to thy - shore! - For Heaven will look downward in mercy on those who've passed under - the rod, - And happ'ly again they will prosper, and bask in the blessings of God. - Once more thou shalt stand mid the cities, by prosperous breezes - caressed, - O grand and unconquered Chicago, still Queen of the North and the - West! - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE RAILROAD HOLOCAUST. - -[NEW HAMBURG, N.Y., FEBRUARY, 1871.] - - - Over the length of the beaten track, - Into the darkness deep and black, - Heavy and fast - As a mountain blast, - With scream of whistle and clang of gong, - The great train rattled and thundered along. - - Travelers, cushioned and sheltered, sat, - Passing the time with doze and chat; - Thinking of naught - With danger fraught; - Whiling the hours with whim and song, - As the great train rattled and thundered along. - - Covered and still the sleepers lay, - Lost to the dangers of the way; - Wandering back, - Adown life's track, - A thousand dreamy scenes among; - And the great train rattled and thundered along. - - Heavily breathed the man of care; - Lightly slept the maiden fair; - And the mother pressed - Unto her breast - Her beautiful babes, with yearning strong; - And the great train rattled and thundered along. - - Shading his eyes with his brawny hand, - Danger ahead the driver scanned; - And he turned the steam; - For the red light's gleam - Flashed warning to him there was something wrong; - But the great train rattled and thundered along. - - "Down the brakes!" rang the driver's shout: - "Down the brakes!" sang the whistle out: - But the speed was high, - And the danger nigh, - And Death was waiting to build his pyre; - And the train dashed into a river of fire. - - Into the night the red flames gleamed; - High they leaped and crackled and streamed: - And the great train loomed, - Like a monster doomed, - In the midst of the flames and their ruthless ire-- - In the murderous tide of a river of fire. - - Roused the sleeper within his bed: - A crash, a plunge, and a gleam of red, - And the sweltering heat - Of his winding-sheet - Clung round his form, with an agony dire: - He moaned and died in a river of fire. - - And they who were spared from the fearful death, - Thanked God for life, with quickened breath, - And groaned that too late, - From a terrible fate - To rescue their comrades was their desire, - Ere they sunk in a river of death and fire. - - Pity for them who, helpless, died, - And sunk in the river's merciless tide: - And blessings infold - The driver bold, - Who, daring for honor, and not for hire, - Went down with his train in the river of fire. - - - - -SHIP "CITY OF BOSTON." - - "We only know she sailed away, - And ne'er was heard of more." - - - Waves of the ocean that thunder and roar, - Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? - Tell, as ye dash on the quivering strand, - Where is the crew that comes never to land? - Where are the hearts that, unfearing and gay, - Broke from the clasp of affection away? - Where are the faces that, smiling and bright, - Sailed for the death-darkened regions of night? - Waves of the ocean, that thunder and roar, - Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? - -[Illustration] - - Storms of the ocean, that bellow and sweep, - Where are the friends that went forth on the deep? - Where are the faces ye paled with your sneer? - Where are the hearts ye have frozen with fear? - Where is the maiden, young, tender, and fair? - Where is the grandsire, of silvery hair? - Where is the glory of womanhood's time? - Where the warm blood of man's vigor and prime? - Storms of the ocean, that bellow and pour, - Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? - - Birds of the ocean, that scream through the gale, - What have ye seen of a wind-beaten sail? - Perched ye for rest on the shivering mast, - Beaten, and shattered, and bent by the blast? - Heard ye the storm-threatened mariner's plea, - Birds of the bitter and treacherous sea? - Heard ye no message to carry away - Home to the hearts that are yearning to-day? - Birds of the ocean, that hover and soar, - Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? - - Depths of the ocean, that fathomless lie, - Where is the crew that no more cometh nigh? - What of the guests that so silently sleep - Low in thy chambers, relentlessly deep? - Cold is the couch they have haplessly won; - Long is the night they have entered upon; - Still must they sleep till the trumpet o'erhead - Summons the sea to uncover its dead. - Depths of the ocean, with treasures in store, - Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? - -[Illustration] - - - - -GONE BEFORE. - - -I. - - Pull up the window-lattice, Jane, and raise me in my bed, - And trim, my beard, and brush my hair, and from this covering free me, - And brace me back against the wall, and raise my aching head, - And make me trim, for one I love is coming here to see me; - Or if she do not see me, Jane, twill be that her dear eyes - Are shut as ne'er they shut before, in all of their reposing; - For never yet my lowest word has failed of kind replies, - And ever still my lightest touch has burst her eyelids closing; - So let her come to me. - - They say she's coming in her sleep--a sleep they can not break; - Ay, let them call, and let them weep, in dull and droning fashion! - Her ear may hear their doleful tones an age and never wake; - But let me pour into its depth my words of burning passion! - Ay, let my hot and yearning lips, that long have yearned in vain, - But press her pure and sacred cheek, and wander in her tresses; - And let my tears no more be lost, but on her forehead rain, - And she will rise and pity me, and soothe me with caresses; - So let her come to me. - - O silver-crested days agone, that wove us in one heart! - O golden future years, that urged our hands to clasp in striving! - There is not that in earth or sky can hold us two apart; - And I of her, and she of me, not long may know depriving! - So bring her here, where I have long in absence pining lain, - While on my fevered weakness crashed the castles of our building; - And once together, all the woe and weary throbs of pain - That strove to cloud our happiness shall be its present gilding; - So let her come to me. - - -II. - - They brought her me--they brought her me--they bore her to my bed; - And first I marked her coffin's form, and saw its jewels glisten. - I talked to her, I wept to her, but she was cold and dead; - I prayed to her, and then I knew she was not here to listen. - For Death had wooed and won my love, and carried her away. - How could she know my trusting heart, and then so sadly grieve me! - Her hand was his, her cheek was his, her lips of ashen gray; - Her heart was never yet for him, however she might leave me; - Her heart was e'er for me. - - O waves that well had sunk my life, sweep back to me again! - I will not fight your coming now, or flee from your pursuing! - But bear me, beat me, dash me to the land of Death, and then - I'll find the love Death stole from me, and scorn him with my wooing! - Oh, I will light his gloomy orbs with jealous, mad surprise; - Oh, I will crush his pride, e'en with the lack of my endeavor; - The while I boldly bear away, from underneath his eyes, - The soul that God had made for me to lose no more forever; - Ay, she will go with me. - - Pull down the window-lattice, Jane, and turn me in my bed, - And not until the set of sun be anxious for my waking; - And ere that hour a robe of light above me shall be spread, - And darkness here shall show me there the morn that now is breaking. - And in one grave let us be laid--my truant love and me-- - And side by side shall rest the hearts that once were one in beating; - And soon together and for aye our wedded souls shall be, - And never cloud shall dim again the brightness of our meeting, - Where now she waits for me. - - - - -THE LITTLE SLEEPER. - - - There is mourning in the cottage as the twilight shadows fall, - For a little rose-wood coffin has been brought into the hall, - And a little pallid sleeper, - In a slumber colder, deeper - Than the days of life could give her, in its narrow borders lies, - With the sweet and changeful lustre ever faded from her eyes. - - Since the morning of her coming, but a score of suns had set, - And the strangeness of the dawning of her life is with her yet; - And the dainty lips asunder - Are a little pressed with wonder, - And her smiling bears the traces of a shadow of surprise; - But the wondering mind that made it looks no more from out her eyes. - - 'Twas a soul upon a journey, and was lost upon its way; - 'Twas a flash of light from heaven on a tiny piece of clay; - 'Twas more timid, and yet bolder, - It was younger, and yet older, - It was weaker, and yet stronger, than this little human guise, - With the strange unearthly lustre ever faded from its eyes. - - They will bury her the morrow; they will mourn her as she died; - I will bury her the morrow, and another by her side; - For the raven hair, but started, - Soon a maiden would have parted, - Full of fitful joy and sorrow--gladly gay and sadly wise; - With a dash of worldly mischief in her deep and changeful eyes. - - I will bury her the morrow; and another by her side: - It shall be a wife and mother, full of love and care and pride; - Full of hope, and of misgiving; - Of the joys and griefs of living; - Of the pains of others' being, and the tears of others' cries; - With the love of God encompassed in her smiling, weeping eyes. - - I will bury on the morrow, too, a grandame, wrinkled, old; - One whose pleasures of the present were the joys that had been told; - I will bury one whose blessing - Was the transport of caressing - Every joy that she had buried-every lost and broken prize; - With a gleam of heaven-expected, in her dim and longing eyes. - - I will joy for her to-morrow, as I see her compassed in; - For the lips now pure and holy might be some time stained with sin; - And the brow now white and stainless, - And the heart now light and painless, - Might have throbbed with guilty passion, and with sin-encumbered sighs - Might have surged the sea of brightness in the sweet and changeful eyes. - - Let them bury her to-morrow--let them treasure her away; - Let the soul go back to heaven, and the body back to clay; - Let the future grief here hidden, - Let the happiness forbidden, - Be for evermore forgotten, and be buried as it dies; - And an angel let us see her, with our sad and weeping eyes. - -[Illustration] - - - - -'TIS SNOWING. - - -FIRST VOICE. - - - Hurra! 'tis snowing! - On street and house-roof, gently cast, - The falling flakes come thick and fast; - They wheel and curve from giddy height, - And speck the chilly air with white! - Come on, come on, you light-robed storm! - My fire within is blithe and warm, - And brightly glowing! - My robes are thick, my sledge is gay; - My champing steeds impatient neigh; - My silver-sounding bells are clear, - With music for the muffled ear; - And she within--my queenly bride-- - Shall sit right gayly by my side; - Hurra! 'tis snowing! - - -SECOND VOICE. - - Good God! 'tis snowing! - From out the dull and leaden clouds, - The surly storm impatient crowds; - It beats against my fragile door, - It creeps across my cheerless floor; - And through my pantry, void of fare, - And o'er my hearth, so cold and bare, - The wind is blowing; - And she who rests her weary head - Upon our hard and scanty bed, - Prays hopefully, but hopeless still, - For bright spring days and whip-poor-will; - The damp of death is at her brow, - The frost is at her feet; and now - 'Tis drearily snowing. - - -FIRST VOICE. - - Hurra! 'tis snowing! - Snow on! ye can not stop our ride, - As o'er the white-paved road we glide: - Past forest trees thick draped with snow, - Past white-thatched houses, quaint and low; - Past rich-stored barn and stately herd, - Past well-filled sleigh and kindly word, - Right gayly going! - Snow on! for when our ride is o'er, - And once again we reach the door, - Our well-filled larder shall provide, - Our cellar-doors shall open wide; - And while without 'tis cold and drear, - Within, our board shall smile with cheer, - Although 'tis snowing! - - -SECOND VOICE. - - Good God! 'tis snowing! - Rough men now bear, with hurried tread, - My pauper wife unto her bed; - And while, all crushed, but unresigned, - I cringe and follow close behind, - And while these scalding, bitter tears-- - The first that stain my manhood years-- - Are freely flowing, - Her waiting grave is open wide, - And into it the snow-flakes glide. - A mattress for her couch they wreathe; - And snow above, and snow beneath, - Must be the bed of her who prayed - The sun might shine where she was laid; - And still 'tis snowing! - - - - -POEMS OF HOPE. - - - - -SOME TIME. - - - O strong and terrible Ocean, - O grand and glorious Ocean, - O restless, stormy Ocean, a million fathoms o'er! - When never an eye was near thee to view thy turbulent glory, - When never an ear to hear thee relate thy endless story, - What didst thou then, O Ocean? Didst toss thy foam in air, - With never a bark to fear thee, and never a soul to dare? - - "Oh, I was the self-same Ocean, - The same majestic Ocean, - The strong and terrible Ocean, with rock-embattled shore; - I threw my fleecy blanket up over my shoulders bare, - I raised my head in triumph, and tossed my grizzled hair; - For I knew that some time--some time-- - White-robed ships would venture from out of the placid bay, - Forth to my heaving bosom, my lawful pride or prey; - I knew that some time--some time-- - Lordly men and maidens my servile guests would be, - And hearts of sternest courage would falter and bend to me." - -[Illustration] - - O deep and solemn Forest, - O sadly whispering Forest, - O lonely moaning Forest, that murmureth evermore! - When never a footstep wandered across thy sheltered meadows, - When never a wild bird squandered his music mid thy shadows, - What didst thou then, O Forest? Didst robe thyself in green, - And pride thyself in beauty the while to be unseen? - "Oh, I was the self-same Forest, - The same low-whispering Forest, - The softly murmuring Forest, and all of my beauties wore. - I dressed myself in splendor all through the lonely hours; - I twined the vines around me, and covered my lap with flowers; - For I knew that some time--some time-- - Birds of beautiful plumage would flit and nestle here; - Songs of marvelous sweetness would charm my listening ear; - I knew that some time--some time-- - Lovers would gayly wander neath my protecting boughs, - And into the ear of my silence would whisper holy vows." - - O fair and beautiful Maiden, - O pure and winsome Maiden, - O grand and peerless Maiden, created to adore! - When no love came to woo thee that won thy own love-treasure, - When never a heart came to thee thy own heart-wealth could measure, - What didst thou then, Maiden? Didst smile as thou smilest now, - With ne'er the kiss of a lover upon thy snow-white brow? - - "Oh, I was the self-same Maiden, - The simple and trusting Maiden, - The happy and careless Maiden, with all of my love in store. - I gayly twined my tresses, and cheerfully went my way; - I took no thought of the morrow, and cared for the cares of the day; - For I knew that some time--some time-- - Into the path of my being the Love of my life would glide, - And we by the gates of heaven would wander side by side." - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE GOOD OF THE FUTURE. - - - Why is the mire in the trodden street, - And the dark stream by the sewer borne, - Spurned from even under our feet, - Grudged by us e'en the look of scorn? - There is fresh grass in its gloom-- - There are sweetness and bloom; - There is pulse for men to eat-- - There are golden acres of wheat. - But so it is, and hath ever been: - The good of the future is e'er unseen. - - Why is the mud of humanity spurned - E'en from the tread of the passer-by? - Why is the look of pity turned - From the bare feet and the downcast eye? - There is virtue yet to spring - From this poor trodden thing; - There are germs of godlike power - In the trials of this hour; - But so it is, and hath ever been: - The man of the future is e'er unseen. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE JOYS THAT ARE LEFT. - - - If the sun have been gone while we deemed it might shine; - If the day steal away with no hope-bearing sign; - If the night, with no sight of its stars or its moon, - But such clouds as it hath, closes down on our path over-dark and o'er - soon: - - If a voice we rejoice in its sweetness to hear, - Breathe a strain for our pain that glides back to our ear; - If a friend mark the end of a page that was bright, - Without pretext or need, by some reptile-like deed that coils plain in - our sight; - - If life's charms in our arms grow a-tired and take wing; - If the flowers that are ours turn to nettles and sting; - If the home sink in gloom that we labored to save, - And the garden we trained, when its best bloom is gained, be enriched - by a grave; - - Shall we deem that life's dream is a toil and a snare? - Shall we lie down and die on the couch of despair? - Shall we throw needless woe on our sad heart bereft? - Or, grown tearfully wise, look with pain-chastened eyes at the joys that - are left? - - For the tree that we see on the landscape so fair, - When we hie to it nigh, may be fruitless and bare; - While the vine that doth twine 'neath the blades of the gross, - With sweet nourishment rife, holds the chalice of life toward our lips - as we pass. - - So with hope let us grope for what joys we may find; - Let not fears, let not tears make us heedless or blind; - Let us think, while we drink the sweet pleasures that are, - That in sea or in ground many gems may be found that outdazzle the - star. - - There be deeds may fill needs we have suffered in vain, - There be smiles whose pure wiles may yet banish our pain; - And the heaven to us given may be found ere we die; - For God's glory and grace, and His great holy place, are not all in the - sky. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WHEN MY SHIP WENT DOWN. - - -I. - - Sank a palace in the sea, - When my ship went down; - Friends whose hearts were gold to me-- - Gifts that ne'er again can be-- - 'Neath the waters brown. - There you lie, O Ship, to-day, - In the sand-bar stiff and gray! - You who proudly sailed away - From the splendid town. - - -II. - - Now the ocean's bitter cup - Meets your trembling lip; - Now on deathly woes you sup; - And your humbled pride looks up - From Disaster's grip. - Ruin's nets around you weave; - But I have no time to grieve; - I will promptly, I believe, - Build another ship. - - - - -TO THE CARLETON CIRCLE - -(Of Hudson, Michigan: the Author's native town) - -[In response to their Request for a Word of Greeting at their Annual -Reunion, Monday Evening, July 26, 1886.] - - - Sometimes there comes to me a word of cheer, - From yonder region where the sun goes down; - Where I have often watched him disappear, - And leave awhile the jewels of his crown. - That voice glides over Erie's stormy edge-- - It climbs the Alleghanies' rugged ledge, - And tarries not for dale or mountain crest, - Till it makes music in my own home-nest. - - It says, "We would be better, wiser, truer, - Each day we live; the best that is in us, - We aim to nourish, that it may endure, - And pray that God will help our striving thus. - With reason-builded curiousness we yearn - The depths of history's changing tides to learn; - The weird discoveries that proud science made, - And the pen's song--we ask them all for aid." - - The old town marches eastward to the sea; - Roofs, windows, belfries, door--stones all are here; - Again its busy streets encompass me-- - Their outlines never looked so full and clear. - Shop, factory, office, church and clattering mill; - The trim red school-house smiling from the hill; - The mimic river with its placid tide, - The quaint old graveyard lingering by its side; - - And all the home-made dramas of the past, - Are acted over with a mellower grace; - The wedding-bells that rang so loud and fast-- - The sombre funeral, with its village pace; - The young full-blooded boys that roamed the street; - The old men Death was walking out to meet; - The good grandames whose gossip whipped the hours; - The girls with faces stolen from the flowers; - - Those forms I knew, in reappearing hosts, - Crowd every corner, as on gala days; - They throng the mind--these silent memory-ghosts, - Then sadly smile, and vanish from the gaze. - And some I loved beyond all words' control, - And some I hated with an uncurbed soul - (For he who likes this world, and means to stay, - Must yearn, and toil, and love, and _fight_ his way). - - All this was for the best; and now in love - We look at those who once awakened ire; - If we but lift our hearts and souls above, - The crushing waves will only lift us higher. - Ere you once more return to shadow-land, - Dead friend--dead foe--I clasp you by the hand! - It may be now that you on whom I call, - Look at the earth-feuds as exceeding small! - - And now there float to me some words of cheer, - From yonder region where the sun goes down; - From kindred souls, whose presence would be dear-- - From the _loved living_ of my native town! - To prove once more an old truth it may serve, - That God e'er gives men more than they deserve, - That 'mid the struggles of your lofty aim, - You look this way and call to me by name. - - Ah, would that I were worthy of the task, - To see that all your diamonds were saved! - 'Tis the best joy that any one can ask-- - To give to others what himself has craved. - Whoe'er can teach you life's most brilliant art, - To make the most of body, mind, and heart-- - Will feel that fact, his inmost being bless, - More than the costliest jewels of success! - - Sometimes there comes a blessed word of cheer - From yonder region where the sun shines high; - It brings a joy, it casts out every fear; - It is the motto of th' eternal sky! - _Be true_, _be brave_, _be faithful_; let your heart - With worldly joys and sorrows take their part; - While brain and soul cling to the gleaming cars - Whose goal is Heaven--whose stations are the stars. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE SANCTUM KING. - - - - -THE SANCTUM KING. - -[READ AT THE TWENTY-SIXTH ANNUAL CONVENTION OF THE NEW YORK PRESS -ASSOCIATION, AT JAMESTOWN, N.Y., JUNE 7, 1882.] - - - If one who, midst alternate joy and care, - Has occupied an editorial chair, - Has solved some mysteries that its methods take, - And learned how easy papers are to make, - Has undergone from friends much mental aid, - And wondered where on earth they learned his trade, - Has heard from them how papers should be run, - How things they never have to do, are done, - Has wrestled, in a match he could not shirk, - With the world, flesh, and--lad of general work-- - But now, grown poor, has left for some time-space, - The hard, but weirdly fascinating place-- - If such an one may use, not seeming free, - The editorial and fraternal "We," - And, speaking to this band without offense, - May use his us-ship in the present tense, - Then, let us, with your kind permission, sing - A note or two about The Sanctum King. - - But first the question, who this king of fame? - Whence comes his power, and what may be his name? - With modesty peculiar to the race, - No editor pretends to fill that place; - For editors, be rulers as they will, - Are greatly ruled by their surroundings still; - All men and things, to some extent, control - The journalist's intent and nervous soul. - Influences press round him, in a host; - So what we seek, is, That which rules him most; - What of all men and things that 'gainst him press, - Bears most upon his failure or success? - Upon this ground, what man, or beast, or thing, - Can claim the title of The Sanctum King? - - Is it the Pen? O Pen! we hear thy praise, - Wherever Mind has walked its devious ways! - Thought has been born, in every land and age - Where thy thin lips have kissed the virgin page! - 'Twas thee Dan Chaucer used, in time agone, - To goad the Canterbury pilgrims on; - From thee Ben Jonson filled with gold the air, - And made his name a jewel rich and "rare;" - Of thee The Shakespeare, in his soul sublime, - Forged for himself a sceptre, for all time; - With thee bold Milton groped, his eyes thick sealed, - And wrote his name on Heaven's own battle-field; - Thee, Robert Burns, voice of the heart's best song, - Fashioned into a bagpipe sweet and strong; - Thee, Thomas Moore--his soul to music set-- - Made to an Irish harp that echoes yet; - With thee Longfellow struck a home-made lyre, - And wrote "America," in lines of fire! - Through thy sharp, quivering point, words have been given, - Out of the flaming lexicons of Heaven! - O Pen! When in the old-time school-house, we - Strove, 'neath our teacher's rod, to master thee, - And, twisting down upon some sad old desk, - With doleful air and attitude grotesque, - And with protruding tongue and beating heart, - Took our first lessons in the graphic art, - And that old copy on the paper poured, - Saying, "The Pen is mightier than the Sword," - And then, from sudden and dynamic stroke, - The pen we leaned on, into fragments broke, - Some angel told our inexperienced youth, - That, after all, that copy told the truth! - O Pen! What if thy paper purses hold - Some coin that never came from wisdom's mould! - -[Illustration: "WITH THE WORLD, FLESH, AND--LAD OF GENERAL WORK."] - - - What if thou writest countless reams on reams - Of manuscript, to trouble printers' dreams! - What if thy cheap and easy-wielded prongs, - Indite each year a hundred thousand songs, - In ink of various copiousness and shade-- - On every subject Earth and Heaven have made! - What if thou shovest 'neath the printer's nose, - Cords of mis-spelled, unpunctuated prose! - What if, picked from the wing of senseless goose, - Thou'rt still by that loud biped oft in use! - Thou'rt sometimes plucked from Wisdom's glittering wing; - And yet we cannot hail thee Sanctum King! - - Is it The Pencil? Sad would be the lot - Of any sanctum where this help were not! - Turn, Faber, in thy half-forgotten grave, - And see the branches of thy bay-tree wave! - See Dickens, still by glory's wreaths untouched, - Pencil 'twixt first and second fingers clutched, - Transcribing, in his nervous, dashing way, - The parliamentary rubbish of the day! - Him on his rapid homeward journey see; - An omnibus for office, and his knee - Extemporized into a desk, whereon - He writes what lesser men have said and done! - See Thackeray, through English streets and vales, - Make notes and sketches for his wondrous tales, - See Bryant, sage apostle of the wood, - And quiet champion of the true and good, - Echo of every breeze's soft-blown breath, - Sweetest of all apologists of Death, - Leave the surroundings of the heath and field, - The pencil of the journalist to wield! - See Prentice, thorny genius, using it - For the electric charges of his wit; - See Saxe from mountain eyries take his flight, - His wings with editorial radiance bright; - See Whittier--angels spare him long to men!-- - Whose pencil served apprentice to his pen; - See Taylor, travelling many a useful mile, - Grasp a reporter's pencil all the while; - See Holland--sweetly noble household name-- - Lean on the pencil, on his way to fame; - See, bending the reporter's page above, - Artemus Ward--light laughter's dearest love! - See thousands of the loftiest of the land, - First learn to write an editorial hand! - And, Pencil, with such aids as thou canst find, - Thou'rt courted, feared, and watched, by all mankind; - They seek thy love; they wither 'neath thy hate; - With anxious hearts thy verdicts they await. - That statesman, who unflinching can withstand - His foeman's broadsides, with brave self-command, - That lawyer, who can bully at the bar - Judge, witness, jury--no odds who they are-- - That doctor, who has sallied forth thro' storms, - To fight with Death, in all his moods and forms, - That general, who, when battle-banners wave, - Can spur his foaming charger toward the grave, - All these, when interviewers near them glide, - Sometimes, like startled children, run and hide. - Yes, Pencil, thou art potent in thy sting! - And yet we cannot hail thee Sanctum King. - - Rise up, John Guttenberg, from lands remote, - And let us hear thy guttural German throat; - Now that the harvest that thou sowedst is ripe, - Make prominent the royal claims of Type! - Those type that rose, like treasures from the main, - Out of the deep abysses of thy brain! - Old jeweller, Heaven grant thou knowest yet, - What diamonds thine aching fingers set! - Wherever Mind once groped in halls of night, - They flashed and flared their weird electric light; - Wherever Thought has lit its streaming flame, - They spell the letters of thy awkward name! - When first the office boy assails the "case," - With "stick" and "rule" held awkwardly in place, - When through his "copy" timidly he spells, - Thrusting his fingers knee-deep in the cells, - And draws the type forth, looking, when 'tis done, - In each one's face, to see if that's the one; - When, raising them and holding them aloof, - Ere putting them to most outrageous proof, - He drops the whole into a shapeless "pi," - And looks at them forlornly, as they lie, - Little he knows, amid his small turmoils, - The nature of those things, 'mid which he toils! - Little he knows, as gazing still he stands, - He may have dropped an empire from his hands! - Yes, Type, thy voice is loud, for war or peace; - Its mighty influence nevermore may cease; - Unnumbered happenings from thy efforts spring; - And yet, we cannot hail thee Sanctum King! - - What then strikes most our failure or success? - Is it the strong and swiftly whirling Press? - Improved by rare Ben Franklin's earliest art - (God bless his dear old sweet progressive heart! - The patron saint of printers let him stand, - Ever--in every English-speaking land!). - Is it the Press, made multiform by Hoe, - Who lives, the triumph of his brain to know, - And views his monster proudly, as it drips - Fresh news from off its tapering finger-tips? - Far can the Press its many mandates fling; - And yet we cannot hail it Sanctum King! - - Who then this Sanctum King, of mighty fame? - Is it that lad of uncelestial name, - Who, like the wretch whose title he has found, - Takes all the maledictions floating round? - Who quaffs, with surly, mock-respectful stare, - The surplus blueness of the office air? - Who all our secrets in a week doth know; - Whose brain is active as his feet are slow? - Who pleads from every negligence or trick, - With tongue as agile as his hands are thick? - Who creeps the editor's seclusion near, - And yells for "copy!" in his weakest ear? - Who when on errands swiftly sent, would spurn - To embarrass you by an o'er-quick return; - And creeps along his course, when under sail, - Like an old fish-boat, beating 'gainst a gale? - Who some day, if his brilliant hopes be sound, - May mount The Great Profession's topmost round, - But who, by undue energy uncursed, - Is climbing very moderately at first? - Pity the devil! for he much endures! - He has his griefs, as well as you have yours. - If "Uncle Toby," for his good heart famed, - Pitied the one for whom the boy was named, - Then may we make allowance for the elf, - And pity this poor blundering boy himself. - The day may not be very far ahead, - When he his genius on our craft will shed; - Will all at once develop hidden worth, - And as a full-fledged editor come forth. - Let us then justice to this poor boy bring, - Call him--say--Sanctum Prince--not quite a King. - - Paste-pot and scissors! raise thy sticky hands, - And make on us imperial demands! - Not over-often comes the day or hour - We're not indebted to thy magic power; - To all of us the obligation clings; - Thou art our foragers--but not our kings! - - Is it that "friend," whom editors adore, - Who calls "a minute" of three hours or more, - Who occupies the easiest vacant chair, - With large amounts of time and tongue to spare? - Who opens our exchanges, one by one, - And reads our editorials ere they're done? - Who gives us items, sparkling, fresh, and new, - But ne'er, by any turn of fortune, true? - Who comments on our mode of writing makes, - And tenderly announces our mistakes? - Who occupies, with sweet, unconscious air, - Three-fourths of all the room we have to spare, - And with a cheerful, love-begetting smile, - Kills his own time, and murders us meanwhile? - Who shows us, with unnecessary pains, - The sharp things that some other sheet contains? - Who hands us every word, from far and near, - That he against our enterprise can hear? - Sweet are the consolations he can bring; - And yet we cannot call him Sanctum King! - - Who then, or what, this king of mighty fame? - Whence comes his power, and what may be his name? - May we not, with some show of truthful grace, - Put The Waste Basket in that honored place? - The question 'mongst good talkers, day by day, - Should be, what is it wisest _not_ to say? - The question with good workers who'd be true, - Should be, what is it wisest _not_ to do? - The minister his judgment should beseech, - To know what sermons wisely _not_ to preach; - The editor should study, without stint, - What articles 'tis wisest _not_ to print; - And so I ask, the question home to bring-- - Is The Waste Basket not The Sanctum King? - Great treasurer of literary gems! - Casket of unsuspected diadems! - Sad cemetery, where in dreamless sleep, - Some millions of bright hopes lie buried deep! - Joy to the editor, who, keen of sight, - Knows his Waste Basket how to use aright; - Who marks its prudent counsels, day by day, - And rules himself its mandates to obey! - Prints no cheap advertisement for a song, - But straight inserts them--where the things belong; - Kills those communications whose sour fruit - Would probably have been--a libel suit; - Rejects that trash his desk so often finds, - Unfit to set before his readers' minds; - And sends the scum of malice, filth and spite, - To be made into paper, pure and white! - Let The Waste Basket's countless merits ring; - But still it is not quite The Sanctum King! - - So, then, if none of those of which I speak, - Is vested with the qualities we seek, - Let us once more inquire, untouched by blame, - Who is this wondrous king, of mighty fame? - List then, while plain his name to you I bring, - THE PUBLIC HEART! That is The Sanctum King! - - Yes, 'mid unceasing worry and turmoil, - To serve that Heart, the Editor must toil; - Under Its bidding must his efforts be; - It forms part of "the editorial We." - Why do the papers gossip, would you know? - Because--the public ear would have it so. - Our journal's not a favorite breakfast-dish, - Unless it gossips to the public wish; - And even they who call "the stuff absurd," - Will sit and groan, and--read it every word. - Why do we thread men's motives thro' and thro'? - Because our king, The Public, tells us to! - Why do we quote the wedding chimes and hues? - Because our Queen is waiting for the news. - Why do we type on useless stories waste? - To please some portions of the public taste! - Why do we into secret haunts repair? - Because a curious public sends us there! - Why do we tell the crimes of all the lands? - Because The Public Heart their tale demands! - Why are we deep in politics immersed? - Because The Public fought and quarreled first! - - - Why do we toil with all that we possess? - Because The Public Brain will take no less! - Acknowledged let our proud position be: - The Public Heart's prime-ministers are we! - - [Illustration: "THE PUBLIC HEART'S PRIME-MINISTERS ARE WE!"] - - Men of the Press! to us is given, indeed, - To shape the growing appetites we feed! - We must from day to day and week to week, - To elevate our Monarch's motives seek, - That he may, with an open, liberal hand, - Higher and higher things of us demand! - So let us cut our own progressive way-- - So onward toil, through darkness and through day; - So let us in our labor persevere, - Unspoiled by praise--untouched by blame or fear; - Learn to distinguish, with true, patient art, - The private pocket from The Public Heart; - Learn how to guide that Heart, in every choice, - And give its noblest thoughts its purest voice! - Till so The Press The Public Heart may move, - That day by day they mutually improve: - That high and higher each the other bring, - Till God Himself shall be The Sanctum King! - -[Illustration] - - - - -STRAY STANZAS. - - - - -LINES TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. - -[IN BOSTON LITERARY WORLD'S "WELCOME" NUMBER, JUNE 27, 1885.] - - - With love not even he could wake, - Save in his fatherland, - We reach a Yankee grasp, and take - Hosea by the hand. - With smiles of praise, that need must throng - With sympathizing tears, - We greet our prince of prose and song, - In his maturer years; - For words that made a shining track, - Beyond the Atlantic foam, - We lift our hearts, and welcome back - Our statesman to his home. - - - - -TO MONSIEUR PASTEUR. - -[UPON HIS DISCOVERY OF INOCULATION FOR HYDROPHOBIA.] - - - O good Monsieur Pasteur! your humanized art - Has thrilled every brain, and has touched every heart; - Man's friendliest beast--by disease tortured sore, - Henceforth is a poisonous reptile no more; - Now please find a cure to our maladies when - This poor world is bitten by mad-minded men! - - - - -TO A YOUNG LADY. - -[FOR WHOM TWO HARVARD STUDENTS ENGAGED IN A GAME OF FISTICUFFS.] - - - 'Tis something to be sought for, O maiden archly fair-- - And to be bravely fought for; but, sweet one, have a care! - The "slugger" tribe (the fact is) when business with them thrives, - Are sometimes prone to practice their art upon their wives! - - - - -DEATH OF THE RICHEST MAN. - - - He owned, to-day, a large and gleaming share - Of this earth's narrow rim; - A sigh--a groan--a gesture of despair-- - The earth owned him. - The richest one of any clime or land, - The old-time lesson taught; - A human mine of gold!--God raised His hand, - And he had nought. - - - - -TO THE SMOTHERED MINERS. - - - Oh men who died in tombs, - Away from the life of the sun, - Down in the griefs and glooms - Of a day forever done: - The life of that senseless coal - Will some day seek the air; - And Heaven will claim each soul - Of your bodies buried there. - - - - -THE DEATHLESS SONG. - -[TELEGRAPHED TO THE JOHN HOWARD PAYNE OBSEQUIES AT WASHINGTON, 1883.] - - - Although to-day with reverent tread - I may not join your throng, - My heart is with the living dead - Who wrote the deathless song. - - - - -ON A "POET"-CRITIC. - - - Disgruntled ----, by failure spoiled - Into a living frown, - With pens by his own "poems" spoiled, - Writes younger authors down: - Sick serpent of the growler tribes, - Your victims might do worse; - They'd rather bear your shallow gibes, - Than write your dawdling verse. - - -[Illustration: FINIS] - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's Notes. - -1. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by - =equal signs=. - -2. 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